TIN  SPOUT 

HENRY  OYEN 


TARRANT 
OF  TIN  SPOUT 

HENRY  OYEN 


TARRANT  OF 
TIN  SPOUT 


BY 

HENRY  OYEN 

AUTHOR  OF 

THE  PLUNDERER, 
G ASTON  OLAF,  ETC. 


GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS  NEW     YORK 

Made  i»  the  Diked  StalM  «f  A-cnc. 


COPYRIGHT,   1922, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN   COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1921,    1922  BY  THE  CURTIS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE   UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


TARRANT  OF  TIN  SPOUT 


2127555 


TARRANT  OF  TIN  SPOUT 


CHAPTER  I 

A  VIOLENT  spring  cloudburst  had  raised  the  waters 
•*-  *•  of  the  Rio  Canyada  to  a  degree  that  threatened  the 
Ft.  W.  &  D.  trestle;  and  as  a  consequence  the  passengers 
on  the  southward-bound  Limited,  held  for  orders,  were 
afforded  an  opportunity  to  see  the  oil  town  of  Tin  Spout, 
Texas. 

In  all  truth  there  was  not  much  to  see,  and  little,  if  any, 
of  that  was  pleasing  to  the  eye,  while  most  of  it  was  de- 
pressingly  ugly.  Tin  Spout,  the  oil  hamlet,  enhanced  the 
drab  Northern  Texas  landscape  no  more  than  it  had  done 
in  the  very  recently  passed  day  when  it  was  Tin  Spout,  the 
cattle  town.  The  first  impression  that  one  gained  was 
that  of  a  community  totally  and  hopelessly  sunken  in  a 
morass  of  mud.  At  present  it  was  a  reddish,  sticky  kind 
of  mud  which  seemed  to  brand  all  things — buildings, 
motor  cars,  horses  and  men — that  came  in  contact  with 
it,  but  in  dry  weather  the  mud  dried  up  and  the  wind 
blew  it  about,  so  the  buildings  of  Tin  Spout,  above  the 
mud  splashings,  had  taken  upon  themselves  a  coating  of 
heavy  brown  dust. 

The  buildings  could  not  be  said  to  add  greatly  to  the 
scene.  They  were  in  the  main  unpainted  board  shacks 
of  a  single  story  in  height,  fronting  upon  the  short  stretch 
of  churned-up  and  rutted  mud  road  along  the  railroad 

7 


8  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

track  which  represented  Tin  Spout's  main  street.  The  oil 
derricks  in  the  field  about  the  town  towered  high  above 
the  squalid  buildings.  A  few  of  the  derricks  were  built 
of  new,  clean  timbers,  but  the  majority  of  them  were 
black  and  grimy  and  soaked  inches  deep  in  the  oil  and 
mud  from  the  wells. 

A  hot  spring  sun  had  emerged  from  the  black  clouds 
which  had  provided  the  deluge  and  the  damp  town  steamed 
uncomfortably.  There  was  a  constant  chug-chug,  chug- 
chug  in  the  air.  It  was  a  lazy,  unimpressive  sound,  and 
it  came  from  the  pumps  which,  moving  up  and  down 
interminably  above  the  wells,  drew  the  greasy  crude  pe- 
troleum from  the  depths  of  the  earth. 

In  the  scant  shade  offered  by  the  discarded  box  car 
which  served  Tin  Spout  as  a  railway  station  a  young  man 
was  standing  at  ease,  his  thumbs  hooked  in  his  belt.  He 
was  tall  and  brown.  His  apparel  proclaimed  him  a  work- 
ing oilman,  a  producer,  in  the  fields  where  the  wells  are 
drilled,  for  he  wore  the  regulation  khaki  shirt  and  trousers 
and  high  laced  boots  of  his  craft.  On  his  head,  however, 
was  a  sombrero  of  the  large,  expensive  kind  which  may 
be  seen  offered  as  second  prize  at  the  rodeos  in  the  horse 
and  cattle  country.  The  sombrero  gave  a  clew  to  the 
young  man's  antecedents.  No  one  save  an  ex-cattleman 
would  have  worn  such  a  hat  in  such  an  environment.  Per- 
haps the  sombrero  was  even  a  clew  to  the  true  nature  of 
Spence  Tarrant;  its  suggestion  was  that  though  the  oil- 
man was  dominant  there  had  remained  alive  within  him 
a  trace  of  the  reckless,  free  rider  of  the  ranges. 

"Wayne,"  he  drawled  softly  to  a  nattily  dressed  young 
man  who  came  up  to  him  excitedly,  "you  put  your  hat  on 
or  the  sun  will  get  you." 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  9 

"Darn  the  sun!"  snapped  Wayne.  "I've  got  news, 
Spence — big  news — million-dollar  news — for  all  of  us!" 

"You  have  got  oil  fever,  that's  what  you've  got,"  said 
Tarrant,  after  a  moment  of  scrutiny.  "You  put  on  your 
hat." 

The  young  man  obeyed,  only  to  remove  the  hat  from 
his  head  to  utilise  it  as  a  means  of  emphasising  his  gesticu- 
lations. 

"There's  a  hundred-million-dollar  boom  coming  to  Tin 
Spout,  Spence!"  he  exclaimed  excitedly.  "I  saw  Bodine 
down  at  Ranger  Falls.  Bodine,  the  Miracle  Man,  they 
call  him.  He  has  selected  this  Tin  Spout  field  as  the  scene 
of  the  next  big  boom.  He  can  bring  it  here.  He  will 
bring  it  here.  Think  of  it,  Spence;  a  hundred-million- 
dollar  investment  proposition!  That's  his  program;  told 
me  so  himself.  And  what  have  little  operators  like  us 
been  doing  here?  We've  got  a  few  little  wells  on  the 
jack ;  we  bring  in  a  few  more  once  in  a  awhile.  Barely 
enough  to  keep  the  field  going.  Yes,  sir !  Barely  going. 
The  Tin  Spout  field  is  on  the  way  to  the  graveyard;  and 
here  Bodine,  the  Miracle  Man,  decides  to  make  it  boom. 
I  can  feel  the  boom  coming,  Spence.  It's  in  the  air." 

He  leaned  forward  with  a  fanatical  gleam  in  his  eyes. 

"It's  the  oil  age,  man !  Look  where  the  price  is  now. 
And  that's  just  the  beginning.  We'll  have  three  dollars 
high  gravity  yet.  Think  of  it,  Spence,  three  dollars  a 
barrel  at  the  well !  Oil  is  the  great  new  force  in  the  world. 
It's  the  coming  power.  Industry  will  run  on  it;  it  will 
cover  the  seven  seas.  The  next  big  war  is  going  to  be 
fought  for  oil.  There'll  be  another  name  for  it  in  the 
history  books,  but  the  good,  old  greasy  crude  oil  will  be 
the  real  cause.  And  we're  right  in  the  heart  of  the  game. 


IO  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

I 

What  we've  made  before  won't  be  chicken  feed.  A  hun- 
dred-million-dollar oil  boom  coming  right  here,  and  we're 
going  to  get  our  share  of  it!" 

"Let  her  come,  Wayne,"  drawled  Tarrant. 

"Spence,"  said  the  enthusiast  earnestly,  "did  you  hit 
any  pay  in  that  new  hole  of  yours?" 

"A  trace  of  it,"  replied  Tarrant.  "I  am  in  town  now  to 
get  Jim  Hennessy  to  come  out  and  shoot  her." 

"Yes.  And  what  will  it  amount  to  if  you  do  bring  in 
a  well?"  demanded  the  other.  "A  little  pumper,  on  the 
jack!  Practically  nothing!  Spence,  what's  the  big  fea- 
ture in  business  to-day?  Salesmanship?  What's  made 
the  big  men  in  this  oil  game?  Drilling  holes  in  the 
ground?  Not  on  your  whiskers!  Vision,  development, 
promotion — salesmanship !  What's  made  this  country  the 
biggest  land  on  the  face  of  the  globe  to-day?  Adver- 
tising! What's  advertising?  Supersalesmanship.  Capi- 
talising your  brains.  Spence — Spence,  we've  got  to  quit 
fooling  away  our  time  and  capitalise  our  opportunities. 
We've  got  'em.  The  boom  is  coming.  We  will  help  it 
come.  How?  Organisation.  Advertising,  propaganda, 
salesmanship!  It's  going  to  make  a  lot  of  millionaires. 
It's  going  to  make  us  millionaires,  and  I  tell  you  it's  com- 
ing soon !" 

"All  right,"  drawled  Tarrant  again,  "let  her  come." 

"  'Let  her  come !'  "  mocked  Wayne.  "Great  Scott, 
Spence,  ain't  I  telling  you  it's  going  to  be  a  world  beater, 
a  millionaire  maker,  a — a  real  boom?" 

"Wayne,"  said  Tarrant,  "it  seems  to  me  that  you  did 
sort  of  appear  to  be  trying  to  convey  that  impression." 

"Then  why  don't  you  wake  up  to  what  it  means?" 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  1 1 

snapped  Wayne.  "Why  don't  you  indicate  you  appre- 
ciate its  significance?" 

Tarrant  slowly  thrust  back  his  sombrero  and  turned  his 
weather-browned  face  toward  the  speaker.  His  blue  eyes, 
surprisingly  young  and  fresh  in  the  leathery  hardness  of 
his  countenance  were  mirrors  of  innocence  and  guileless- 
ness,  and  there  was  even  a  hint  of  melancholy  in  his  ex- 
pression. 

"I  thought  you  knew,  Wayne,"  he  said  with  just  a  trace 
of  aggrieved  surprise  in  his  soft  drawl. 

"Knew  what?" 

"Why  I  don't  catch  the  fever  like  you  have  done." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Wayne. 

"I  am  immune,"  said  Tarrant  simply. 

"Immune  to  what?" 

"Oil  fever." 

"Yes,  you  are!"  Wayne  exclaimed  with  a  laugh.  "Now 
you're  talking  loose.  They  don't  breed  any  man  born  of 
woman  to  be  immune  to  that.  It  hits  all  that  are  exposed 
to  it  and  gets  all  it  hits." 

"Not  me,"  said  Tarrant,  with  a  serious  shake  of  the 
head;  "I'm  immune.  I  can  handle  the  stuff  and  not  be 
affected  by  it.  You'll  allow  I've  been  exposed  a  right 
smart,  won't  you,  Wayne?  And  you  never  saw  me  run- 
ning round  tearing  my  shirt,  did  you  ?  I'm  telling  you  the 
reason;  I'm  immune.  I  can't  catch  it.  It  won't  take 
on  me,"  he  concluded  gravely.  "Sometimes  I  almost  wish 
it  could,  but  it's  something  beyond  my  control.  A  man 
can't  help  how  he's  bred,  can  he?" 

"What  are  you  talking  about  ?"  said  Wayne  in  bewilder- 
ment. 

"It's  a  fact,"  responded  Tarrant.    "You  know  my  folks 


12  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

have  been  pesticating  round  this  neck  of  the  range  for  a 
good  many  years  back?" 

"Yes,  and  all  they  got  to  show  for  it  you  could  put  in 
your  eye,"  was  the  reply. 

Tarrant  nodded  gravely. 

"All  they  got  to  show  for  it  I  could  put  in  my  eye,  if 
that  will  make  you  feel  any  better,"  he  agreed.  "But 
that's  how  come.  I'm  immune  and  can  handle  oil  wells 
without  contracting  oil  fever.  You  see,  Wayne,  my  old 
granddaddy  made  this  neck  of  the  range  his  particular 
stamping  ground.  He  was  a  great  old  fellow  for  stray- 
ing off  from  the  herd  all  by  his  lonesome,  looking  up  better 
hunting  grounds  and  so  on,  and  one  fine  day  when  he 
was  up  here  all  alone  he  got  himself  cornered  by  a  bunch 
of  Kiowa  bucks  on  the  warpath.  I  reckon  the  old  hombre 
was  quite  a  handful  to  handle,  because  he  gave  them  all 
the  fight  they  wanted  and  got  away ;  but  before  he  did — 
they  had  done  it  to  him." 

The  drawling,  serious  recital  had  cast  a  spell  over  the 
listener. 

"Done  what?"  he  demanded.     "Scalped  him?" 

"If  it  had  only  been  that!"  murmured  Tarrant.  "No, 
the  old  gent  kept  his  hair,  but  he  was  out  of  luck  just  the 
same.  You  know,  the  Kiowas  used  to  poison  their  war 
arrows  in  those  days ;  used  to  dip  'em  in  a  mixture  their 
medicine  man  cooked  up  for  them.  My  grandpop  got 
away  all  right,  but  before  he  did  those  Kiowas  had  shot 
him  so  full  of  war  arrows  he  came  riding  home  looking 
like  a  sage  hen  that  had  been  caught  in  a  cyclone.  But 
that  wasn't  the  real  trouble.  The  Kiowa  medicine  man 
happened  to  have  an  off  day  that  day  and  he  didn't  have 
any  medicine  ready,  so  he  had  the  bucks  dip  their  arrows 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  13 

in  a  black  slush  pool  side  of  a  little  creek.  Wayne,  you 
could  never  guess  what  that  slush  was?" 

"What  was  it?"  asked  Wayne  impatiently. 

"An  oil  seep !"  cried  Tarrant,  slapping  him  boisterously 
on  the  back.  "Man,  they  shot  the  old  hombre  so  full  of 
crude  petroleum  that  it  inoculated  him  and  his  whole  darn 
family  and  rendered  them  immune  to  oil  fever  forever 
and  ever!" 

Wayne  choked,  grew  red  in  the  face  and  swore. 

"I  was  just  explaining,"  murmured  Tarrant. 

"Oh,  talk  business!"  protested  Wayne.  "Wake  up  to 
the  situation!  Things  are  going  to  happen  here.  You'll 
see  some  excitement  here  inside  a  week." 

"Sooner  than  that,"  said  Tarrant.    "Look  over  there." 


CHAPTER  II 

SOME  horsemen  who  were  unloading  a  consignment  of 
draft  horses  for  the  oil  fields  from  a  car  on  the  siding 
had  led  the  last  horse  in  the  car  out  onto  the  runway, 
and  at  the  sight  of  him  a  shout  of  dismay  rose  from  the 
throat  of  the  fat  half -Mexican  consignee. 

"Holy  red  roaring!  What  in  blazes  they  think  I'm 
doing !  running  a  circus  ?"  he  bellowed.  "You  little  calico 
runt!  What  you  doing  in  a  car  with  honest  draft  horses?" 

The  animal  thus  addressed  stood  with  two  dirty  fore- 
feet on  the  runway,  leaning  back  against  the  halter  while 
he  somnolently  surveyed  his  new  surroundings.  Even  the 
Pullman  passengers  from  the  Limited,  grouped  round  the 
siding  to  see  the  fun,  wrere  aware  that  he  did  not  belong 
in  a  shipment  of  chunky  draft  animals.  He  was  too  light 
in  weight,  too  thin  in  the  legs  and  neck.  He  was  a  saddle 
horse,  and  he  was  as  ugly  as  he  was  sleepy  looking.  Na- 
ture apparently  had  mixed  the  colors  on  the  day  of  his 
birth.  To  the  fore  of  a  line  drawn  roughly  about  his 
girth  he  might  have  been  called  a  dark  horse  irregularly 
splotched  with  white,  and  to  the  rear  of  the  line  he  was 
a  white  horse  spotted  with  black.  As  he  emerged  wholly 
from  the  gloom  of  the  car  into  the  glare  of  the  sun  one 
of  the  men  cried  out : 

"I  know  him!  It's  that  Nine  Spot  horse,  the  trained 
bucker,  that  was  in  the  rodeo  down  to  Forth  Worth !" 

The  consignee  swore  again. 

"A  calico  bucker!  And  me  paying  for  oil-field  draft 
horses  I  Bring  him  down  I" 

14 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  15 

The  man  at  the  horse's  head  led  him  down  and  spoke 
gently  to  him;  and  the  gaudy  beast  rewarded  him  by 
rising  upon  its  hind  legs  and  striving  earnestly  to  beat  the 
man's  head  off. 

"Hang  to  him,  horseman!"  jeered  the  oilmen,  and  the 
horse  jerked  free  and  ran.  He  did  not  run  far,  however, 
for  the  horsemen  were  experienced  and  a  rope  was  thrown 
and  snubbed  so  swiftly  and  effectively  that  the  pinto  went 
down  in  a  heap. 

"I'll  have  his  hide  anyway !"  roared  the  buyer.  "Some- 
body gimme  a  gun.  Darn  a  shipper  who  will  make  a  mis- 
take like  that.  Darn  a  horse  that  think's  he  a  prize  fighter. 
Who's  getting  that  gun?  I'll  make  a  good  horse  out  of 
him  in  about  two  seconds,  if  he'll  stand  still  long  enough 
to  let  me  hit  him." 

A  boy  ran  into  a  store  and  appeared  with  a  shotgun. 
The  effect  was  distressing  upon  the  passengers.  Those 
who  had  decided  to  seek  such  nourishment  as  Tin  Spout 
afforded  halted  in  their  movement  toward  Chili  Joe's  eat- 
ing house.  A  few  stared  in  morbid  curiosity,  others  re- 
treated to  the  Pullman;  but  one  of  them,  a  young,  slim 
girl  with  light  hair,  whose  blue  eyes  were  flashing  with 
indignation,  stepped  forth  and  confronted  the  irate  cabal- 
lero. 

"You  brute !"  said  she,  and  the  oilmen  roared  with  glee 
at  her  words.  "Do  you  actually  mean  to  destroy  that 
beautiful  pony?" 

"Pony?"  snorted  the  horseman.  "Lady,  that  ain't  no 
pony.  That's  a  devil  in  a  horsehide." 

"He's  a  finer  thing  than  you  are!"  retorted  the  girl. 
The  oilmen  shouted  their  approval.  She  turned  upon 
them  instantly. 


16  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"Are  you  men  going  to  stand  by  and  see  this  done?" 
she  said,  appealing  to  the  nearest  spectator.  This  spec- 
tator happened  to  be  a  tall,  gangling  mule  skinner,  and  at 
her  words  he  was  smitten  dumb  by  confusion. 

"Can't  this  be  stopped?"  she  pleaded. 

"Hell,  yes!"  stammered  the  skinner.  "I'll  shoot  old 
Sam  if  you  say  the  word." 

Another  roar  of  laughter  greeted  this  sally  and  the 
girl's  face  flushed  in  embarrassment. 

An  easy,  drawling  voice  spoke  casually  from  the  shade 
of  the  box  car. 

"Why  don't  you  make  him  your  saddle  horse,  Sam?" 

"Hello,  Tarrant !"  cried  the  horseman  heartily.  "What  ? 
Me  ride  that  wildcat  with  hoofs?  Man,  I  ain't  no  rodeo 
performer.  You  take  off  that  sombrero,  Spence.  You're 
an  oilman.  Where  do  you  head  in  talking  horse  to  me?" 

"I'm  agreed,"  drawled  Tarrant.  "A  man  shouldn't  talk 
horse  except  to  a  horseman.  No  horseman  would  make 
any  fuss  over  forking  a  little  calico  pony  like  that." 

A  large  wad  of  bills  came  forth  promptly  from  the 
horseman's  pocket. 

"Here's  a  hundred  dollars  says  you  can't  stay  with 
him,"  he  said  belligerently. 

"Who,  me?"  said  Tarrant.  "Put  back  your  money, 
Sam.  I  used  to  ride  horses." 

"A  hundred  dollars,  oilman !"  cried  the  cab  oiler  o.  "Put 
up  or  change  your  hat !" 

Tarrant  removed  the  sombrero,  inspected  it  casually 
and  replaced  it  on  his  head. 

"I  like  the  style,  Sam,"  said  he. 

"Then  dig!"  commanded  Sam.  "Tell  you  what  I'll 
do,  Spence :  I'll  bet  the  pinto  against  your  hat.  You  got 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  17 

no  business  wearing  that  hat,  fooling  round  oil.  Me,  I 
can  become  it.  What  say?" 

"That's  a  bet,"  agreed  Tarrant.  "I  can  use  that  little 
saddle  pony,  Sam,  and  you  won't  get  my  hat." 

"Throw  him  and  saddle  him,  boys !"  shouted  the  horse- 
man. "Back  away,  folks,  and  give  a  long-geared  oilman 
room  to  hit  the  dirt.  I'll  take  the  hat  now,  Spence — no?" 

The  skill  with  which  the  horse  was  thrown  and  saddled 
testified  to  the  number  of  former  riders  among  the  oil 
workers.  It  was  an  oil  country  now,  a  land  of  industry, 
of  machines,  but  only  a  few  years  ago  the  horse  had 
been  king  there  instead  of  gasoline,  and  the  cult  of  the 
saddle  horse  still  was  strong.  The  men  began  to  express 
opinions.  They  were  oilmen,  and  therefore  anything  that 
might  add  a  new  fillip  of  excitement  to  their  already 
tense  lives  was  welcome ;  and  anything  that  might  be  made 
a  gambling  proposition  to  supplement  the  great  gamble 
of  drilling  for  oil  was  doubly  welcome.  Operators,  lease 
hounds,  rough-necks  and  skinners  shook  money  at  one 
another  and  sought  stakeholders.  Chili  Joe,  proprietor 
of  the  Skinners'  Rest  eating  house,  ran  out  and  began  to 
hunt  odds.  By  the  time  Nine  Spot  stood  saddled  and 
ready  the  contest  had  assumed  the  proportions  of  a  great 
betting  affair;  and  as  Tarrant  went  swiftly  into  the  sad- 
dle the  long,  piercing  cry  rose  from  a  dozen  throats : 

"Eeeeee-yow !     Ri-i-ide  'im,  cowboy!" 

Nine  Spot  made  three  catlike  springs  as  soon  as  he  felt 
the  weight  on  his  back,  and  turned  round  so  suddenly 
that  his  tail  seemed  to  flick  his  nose.  He  next  dashed  him- 
self recklessly  against  the  box-car  station. 

In  bewilderingly  rapid  succession  the  pony  became  a 
great  cat,  supple-spined  and  limber-legged,  that  clawed 


i8  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

at  the  air  and  shook  himself;  he  became  a  stiff-legged  old 
steer,  bumping  over  the  ground  in  four-footed  leaps,  each 
of  which  jarred  himself  and  rider  to  the  marrow.  He 
twisted  and  changed  ends.  At  last  he  arose  to  the  summit 
of  equine  frenzy.  He  flung  himself  up  on  his  hind  legs 
till  his  outstretched  nose  was  in  a  line  with  his  tail.  A 
moment  he  poised  so,  a  spectacle  which  glued  the  tongues 
in  the  mouths  of  the  spectators.  Then  with  a  savage 
grunt  he  flung  himself  backward,  seeking  to  crush  his 
rider  in  the  fall,  even  if  he  killed  himself  in  doing  so. 

Tarrant  was  expecting  the  move.  He  was  free  from, 
the  stirrups  ere  the  fall  began,  yet  so  sudden,  so  fierce  was 
the  backward  heave  of  the  beast  that  the  passengers 
shrieked  as  they  fancied  him  pinned  beneath  the  saddle. 
The  knowing  natives  saw  him  fling  himself  out  from 
under  the  falling  animal  and  their  shouts  acclaimed  the 
perilous  feat  expertly  done. 

"Stay  with  him !    You're  a  rider!" 

Out  of  the  welter  of  mud,  of  flying  hoofs  the  man  rose 
first,  and  the  reins  were  in  his  hands.  Like  a  boxer  wait- 
ing a  fresh  onslaught  and  ready  to  carry  the  attack  to  a 
finish,  he  waited  while  the  horse  rolled  catwise  twice  and 
prepared  to  rise.  Then  he  was  in  the  saddle.  Nine  Spot 
found  his  head  pulled  up  by  an  iron  hand,  iron  legs  gripped 
his  sides,  a  sombrero  fanned  his  head,  and  a  triumphant 
voice  shrieked: 

"Ee-yow !    Yow !    Yip,  yip,  yip-ee !" 

The  horse  lunged  against  the  bit,  thought  better  of  it, 
and,  having  gone  through  his  customary  performance, 
subsided  with  a  shudder  of  relief. 

"Keep  your  big  hat;  you  sure  are  entitled  to  wear  it," 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  19 

cried  the  horseman.  "Man,  you  ride  too  well;  you'll 
never  amount  to  anything  in  the  oil  business !" 

A  burst  of  laughter  greeted  this  sally  and  a  crowd  of 
men  swarmed  about  the  pony  and  his  rider. 

On  the  outskirts  of  the  throng  a  steady-eyed  block  of 
a  man  with  snow-white  hair,  waited  patiently  for  the  fun 
to  subside,  then  called  out  in  businesslike  tones : 

"Tarrant!    Can  I  see  you  a  minute?" 

"Hello,  Hennessy,"  greeted  Tarrant.  He  slid  off  the 
horse  and  approached  the  well  shooter.  The  latter  jerked 
his  head  in  the  direction  of  a  man  at  his  side,  but  made 
no  move  to  effect  an  introduction. 

"This  party  is  from  the  Pan-National  Syndicate, 
Spence;  Bodine's  company,  you  know,"  said  Hennessy. 
"They  have  bought  me  out.  The  Hennessy  Torpedo  Com- 
pany is  theirs  now.  This  man  allows  they  don't  want  me 
to  shoot  your  well  this  afternoon.  They  are  out  to  stop 
all  new  production  here  while  they're  pulling  the  wires 
for  their  boom." 

Tarrant's  first  glimpse  at  the  stranger  was  sufficient  to 
give  him  an  unpleasant  impression.  The  stranger  was 
intently  scrutinising  the  young  oilman.  He  was  tall  and 
broad-shouldered.  His  swarthy  countenance  was  hard 
and  crafty,  and  a  wide  scar  ran  across  one  side  of  his  face 
from  the  lobe  of  the  ear  to  the  tip  of  the  nose.  Tarrant 
looked  him  over  calmly  from  head  to  toe  and  deliberately 
turned  away. 

"I  don't  see  what  all  that  has  got  to  do  with  me,  Jim," 
said  he.  "You  made  a  contract  to  shoot  that  well  some 
time  ago.  I  am  holding  you  to  that  contract." 

The  stranger  exhaled  a  puff  of  smoke  from  the  cigarette 
he  was  smoking  without  interrupting  his  study  of  Tarrant. 


20  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"It  might  be  good  business  for  you  to  let  the  well  lay," 

said  he. 

"Elmer  and  Buck  are  getting  her  ready  for  the  shoot, 
Hennessy,"  continued  Tarrant,  completely  ignoring  the 
scarred  man  and  addressing  himself  entirely  to  the  well 
shooter.  "I  am  expecting  you  to  come  out  this  after- 
noon." 

Hennessy  nodded. 

"I  have  got  to  do  it,  Spence,"  he  said.  "I  told  them 
so.  I  don't  make  a  contract  I  don't  live  up  to.  But  I  am 
making  it  plain — that  will  be  the  last  one  I  can  shoot  for 
you." 

"There  won't  be  any  more  for  anybody  to  shoot  in  this 
field  for  some  time  to  come,"  supplemented  the  stranger 
flatly. 

Tarrant  turned  slowly  and  regarded  the  man  with  mild 
curiosity. 

"That  is  important — if  true,"  said  he  with  an  obvious 
challenge  in  his  tone  and  manner.  The  stranger  noted 
it  instantly.  A  cold  light  gleamed  in  his  eyes  and  went 
out,  and  he  smiled  on  the  scarred  side  of  his  face. 

"We'll  let  you  shoot  this  one,  since  Hennessy  has  con- 
tracted to  do  it,"  he  said. 

Hennessy  glanced  apprehensively  at  Tarrant,  but  the 
oilman's  expression  in  no  way  betrayed  the  effect  the 
words  had  upon  him. 

"I'm  obliged,"  he  said  quietly. 

Silently  the  two  men  eyed  each  other.  The  single  move- 
ment discernible  was  the  flicker  of  the  stranger's  eyelid 
as  the  smoke  from  his  cigarette  crept  upward. 

As  he  faced  the  scarred  man  Tarrant  appreciated  for 
the  first  time  the  truth  of  the  rumours  that  a  new  force 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  21 

was  about  to  make  itself  felt  in  the  Tin  Spout  oil  field. 
The  stranger  man  stood  forth  as  the  forerunner  of  a  new 
day.  He  was  a  scout,  but  in  contrast  to  the  duties  of  the 
regular  oil  scout,  which  consists  of  appraising  the  wells 
and  structural  formation  of  a  new  field,  the  newcomer 
seemed  bent  upon  the  appraisal  of  the  men  who  were 
ahead  of  him  in  the  field  and  of  Tarrant  in  particular. 
The  latter  understood  that  he  was  up  for  inspection,  and 
he  saw  that  the  inspection  was  not  friendly.  By  the  ex- 
pression in  the  stranger's  bleak,  narrow-lidded  eyes,  it 
was  obvious  that  he  had  come  with  prejudice  in  his  mind, 
and  as  his  deliberate  scrutiny  of  the  young  oil-man  con- 
tinued it  was  apparent  that  he  discovered  nothing  which 
tended  to  remove  or  temper  his  prejudice.  Tarrant's  in- 
tense nature  had  responded  to  the  stranger's  attitude  as 
if  to  a  spoken  challenge,  but  no  one,  observing  his  coun- 
tenance, could  have  estimated  by  his  expression  the  nature 
of  his  swift  change  of  moods.  In  fact  he  had  promptly 
effaced  all  expression  from  his  face  and  it  was  now  no 
more  scrutable  than  a  brown  leather  mask. 

"All  right,  Hennessy,"  he  said,  turning  away,  "much 
obliged." 

Tarrant  stood  still,  but  his  eyes  followed  the  man  till 
he  was  out  of  sight.  He  did  not  speak  for  some  time. 

"Hard-boiled,"  he  said  finally:  "who  is  he,  Jim?" 

"His  name  is  Grogan,"  replied  the  well  shooter.  "Any- 
how, that's  what  he  goes  by.  From  what  I  can  make  out, 
he's  sort  of  Bodine's  right-hand  man.  He  was  sent  up 
here  to  size  you  up,  if  you're  asking  my  opinion.  Came 
and  asked  me  to  point  you  out.  I  reckon  they  had  heard 
of  you,  Spence,  and  wanted  to  get  a  line  on  your  forma- 
tion." 


22  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"How  come?"  said  Tarrant. 

"They  are  out  to  combine  everything  here  in  the  Pan 
National  Syndicate,"  was  the  reply.  "They  want  com- 
plete control.  I  reckon  they  heard  you  weren't  so  easy  to 
control." 

"Do  you  reckon,  Jim,"  said  Tarrant  with  a  smile,  "they 
have  picked  that  hard  guy  to  control  me?" 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Hennessy;  "they  just  want  a  line  on 
you,  to  know  what  sort  of  a  proposition  to  make  you,  I 
reckon." 

"Have  you  got  your  outfit,  Jim?"  asked  Tarrant, 
abruptly  changing  the  subject. 

"Sure  have,"  replied  the  shooter.  "Ready  to  start  any 
time  you  are." 

"I  am  not  quite  ready  yet,"  said  Tarrant.  "I  will  be, 
right  after  lunch.  I've  got  to  see — a  party." 


CHAPTER  III 

'  I^HE  "party"  he  had  to  see  was  the  slim,  fair-haired 
•*•  girl  who  had  faced  the  enraged  horseman  so  indig- 
nantly. 

Tarrant  looked  for  her  in  the  crowd,  but  she  was  gone. 
The  passengers  were  crowding  into  Chili  Joe's  eating 
house,  and  finally  he  had  a  glimpse  of  her  back  among 
the  late  comers.  He  stood  undecided  for  a  moment  while 
his  eyes  followed  her  as  she  disappeared  inside. 

"She  will  be  getting  on  that  train  soon  and  riding  on 
and  I  will  never  see  her  again,"  ran  his  thoughts.  Then, 
because  it  was  natural  for  him  to  do  so,  he  made  his 
decision  promptly. 

"Yes,  I  will,"  he  thought.  "I  want  to  see  her  some 
more,  and  I  will." 

He  pushed  his  way  into  the  Skinner's  Rest  resolved  to 
create  an  opportunity  for  further  speech  with  her.  He 
saw  her  about  to  seat  herself  at  a  table  in  the  corner. 
Across  the  table  from  her  was  another  vacant  seat,  and 
instantly  Tarrant  marked  it  for  his  own.  There  were 
obstacles  and  complications,  however,  to  the  achievement 
of  his  aim,  and  to  some  men  they  might  have  been  re- 
garded as  insuperable.  There  was  a  throng  between  him 
and  the  desired  table,  and  two  men,  one  a  well-dressed 
traveler,  the  other  a  young  driller  with  a  purple  silk  shirt, 
were  bearing  down  upon  the  seat  opposite  the  girl  with 
eager  intentness. 

The  boy  from  the  oil  field  was  winning.  In  fact,  he 

23 


24  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

seemed  certain  to  have  the  race  won,  for  as  Tarrant 
entered  the  room  the  boy  was  but  a  step  or  two  from 
the  coveted  chair.  He  did  not  reach  it,  however.  Through 
the  room  rang  a  piercing  cry : 

"Don't  shoot,  gents;  don't  shoot!" 

The  boy  froze  where  he  was.  In  this  he  did  not  differ 
from  any  other  person  in  the  crowded  room,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Tarrant,  but  his  act  was  the  one  that  was  im- 
portant to  Tarrant's  intention.  Tarrant  swept  imper- 
turbably  through  the  crowd,  won  his  -way  to  the  girl's 
table  and  was  in  the  seat  opposite  her  before  the  crowd 
had  recovered  from  the  shock.  Then  there  was  reaction, 
confusion  and  presently  a  little  anger. 

"Who  said  'don't  shoot'  ?"  demanded  Chili  Joe. 

"I  did,"  said  Tarrant  evenly. 

"You — you  see  somebody  going  to  shoot  somebody, 
Mr.  Tarrant?"  stammered  Joe. 

"Nope." 

"Then  how  come  you  yell  like  that?" 

"It  was  good  advice,  wasn't  it?"  demanded  Tarrant 
firmly.  "You  wouldn't  want  to  see  a  shooting  in  your 
place,  would  you?  I  wouldn't  like  to  see  it.  Give  your 
place  a  bad  name.  You  prove  to  me  it  wasn't  good  ad- 
vice and  I'll  apologise." 

"But,  Tarrant,"  protested  Joe,  scratching  his  bald  head 
in  bewilderment,  "nobody  was  going  to  shoot  nobody,  was 
they?" 

"How  do  you  know?"  demanded  Tarrant  sternly. 

"Well-^was  they?" 

"How  do  I  know?"  said  Tarrant.  "I  am  no  mind 
reader.  I  stand  on  my  first  proposition,  Joe ;  you  prove  it 
was  bad  advice  and  I'll  apologise.  What  do  you  say  ?" 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  25 

"I  dunno,"  muttered  Joe,  staring  in  amazement.  "I — 
I — oh,  shucks,  it's  too  hot  to  figger  it  out!"  he  cried  and 
retreated  co  his  kitchen,  grumbling  as  he  went  that  he 
reckoned  Tarrant  must  have  gone  crazy. 

"Yes,  he  has!"  bitterly  murmured  the  purple-shirted 
boy  who  had  lost  his  seat.  "Crazy  as  a  fox!" 

The  youth  stood  his  ground  for  a  time  staring  darkly 
at  Tarrant  as  if  prepared  to  say  something,  but  he  thought 
better  of  it  and  slouched  away  while  the  travelers  buzzed 
and  stared  in  wonderment  as  they  began  their  meals,  and 
oilmen  choked  on  small  bites  of  food  or  hurried  outside 
and  bent  double  with  laughter. 

Tarrant  was  oblivious,  blissfully  oblivious  of  it  all. 
His  conscience  troubled  him  no  more  than  that  of  a  stag 
which  has  scattered  possible  rivals.  In  fact,  he  had  quite 
forgotten  the  means  used  in  obtaining  his  wish,  for  the 
girl  had  remained  seated  throughout  the  general  conster- 
nation in  the  room  and  now  she  was  staring  across  the 
table  at  Tarrant  in  frank  appraisal. 

"You  are  not  crazy,  are  you?"  she  asked  presently. 

"They  haven't  proved  it  on  me  yet,"  he  replied. 

"I  see  no  reason  why  anyone  shouldn't  be  crazy  here," 
she  went  on ;  "it  seems  to  be  in  the  air.  What  a  bedlam ! 
Are  they  all  insane?" 

"None  of  them !"  laughed  Tarrant.  "At  least,  as  I  say, 
they  haven't  proved  it  against  any  of  us — yet.  It's  the 
oil  fever  that  does  it.  After  you've  been  here  awhile  you 
don't  notice  it — because  you  would  have  the  fever  your- 
self." 

"I  hope,"  she  said,  "that  I  shall  find  Ranger  Falls  a 
little  more  civilised." 

"Ah!"  said  Tarrant  in  relief.    "Much  obliged!" 


26  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

She  stared. 

"I  beg  your  pardon?" 

"That's  what  I  wanted  to  hear." 

"What  is  that?" 

"Where  you  are  going,"  said  he.  "I  certainly  am 
obliged  to  you." 

"I  don't  see  what  possible  difference  it  can  make  to  you 
where  I  am  going,"  she  said  swiftly.  "You  don't  even 
know  my  name." 

"I  don't  just  see  what  names  have  got  to  do  with  it," 
said  Tarrant.  "Are  you  stopping  at  the  Falls  awhile?" 

"Is  this  a  crude  attempt  at  a  flirtation?"  she  demanded 
coldly. 

"Heaven  forbid !"  he  exclaimed  seriously.  "I  will  prove 
it  isn't." 

"You  think  you  will  have  the  opportunity?" 

"I  aim  to  make  the  opportunity,"  he  replied.  "Just  as 
I  aimed  to  get  this  seat.  If  you  would  tell  me  where  you 
are  stopping  at  the  Falls  it  would  simplify  matters,  but  I 
reckon  you  won't  do  that." 

Her  look  of  scorn  failed  to  disturb  him  and  he  went  on : 

"When  I  saw  you  going  in  here  I  thought :  'She  is  get- 
ting away  from  you,  boy ;  go  after  her.'  So  I  did.  When 
you  tell  me  you're  going  to  Ranger  Falls  I  breathe  more 
easily.  It  will  be  easy  for  me  to  find  you  there." 

"Will  you  kindly  remember,"  she  broke  in,  "that  we  are 
complete  strangers?" 

"Everybody  has  to  be  strangers  sometime,"  he  retorted 
calmly.  "I  reckon  Adam  and  Eve  were  strangers  to  each 
other  once." 

"Possibly,"  she  admitted,  "but  times  have  changed  a 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  27 

little,  haven't  they?  And  this  is  scarcely  a  Garden  of 
Eden,  is  it?" 

"No,"  he  agreed ;  "the  different  species  of  animals  are 
present,  but — oh,  Joe !"  he  called  to  the  proprietor,  "have 
you  got  any  apples?" 

"Apples?"  gasped  Chili  Joe.  "Where  do  you  reckon 
you  are?" 

"No ;  you  were  right,"  said  Tarrant.  "It  isn't  the  Gar- 
den of  Eden." 

"All  aboard!"  The  call  of  a  trainman  announcing  the 
departure  of  the  train  interrupted  him.  The  girl  accepted 
the  announcement  as  a  means  of  escape.  She  paid  her 
check  and  stood  up. 

"Adios — till  I  see  you  at  Ranger  Falls,"  said  Tarrant, 
rising  and  bowing  low. 

"Garden  of  Eden !  Apples !"  she  gasped.  She  looked 
at  him  a  moment,  then  putting  her  handkerchief  to  her 
mouth  to  smother  the  laughter  rising  within  her  she  bolted 
for  the  train. 

"Know  who  that  was,  Spence?"  asked  Hennessy,  slip- 
ping into  the  seat  she  had  vacated. 

"Who  is  she?" 

"She's  the  daughter  of  Doctor  Dickinson,  one  of  the 
big  bugs  of  Bodine's  crowd,"  replied  the  well  shooter. 
"From  Chicago.  She's  going  down  to  Ranger  Falls  to 
live  with  her  dad.  They  tell  me  Bodine  paid  his  old  girl 
off  and  got  her  out  of  town." 


CHAPTER  IV 

TlyTARJORIE  DICKINSON  sat  up  straight  and  tense 
***•  on  the  green  plush  of  the  Pullman  as  the  train, 
slowly  feeling  its  way  over  a  sodden  track-bed,  carried 
her  away  from  Tin  Spout  to  her  destination  at  Ranger 
Falls.  Her  lips  parted  occasionally,  and  then  she  would 
press  them  tightly  together,  as  if  she  were  doing  her  best 
to  control  the  outward  manifestations  of  the  emotional 
tumult  which  seethed  within  her.  Her  efforts  were  far 
from  successful.  She  was  just  twenty;  and  the  slight 
flush  which  toned  the  fair  skin  of  her  cheeks,  and  the 
dancing  light  in  her  young  blue  eyes,  flashed  an  obvious 
signal  of  virginal  Youth  vibrantly  responsive  to  a  suc- 
cession of  thrills. 

It  was  all  so  new  to  her.  A  month  ago  she  had  not 
known  that  such  places  as  Tin  Spout  existed.  If  she  had 
been  aware  of  the  existence  of  oil  fields  in  general  her 
knowledge  had  been  so  vague  as  to  be  negligible.  Cer- 
tainly she  could  not  by  any  stretch  of  the  imagination 
have  conceived  that  the  sudden  development  of  the  great 
oil  boom  in  the  Southwest  with  its  consequent  influence 
upon  potential  investors  throughout  the  country,  could 
possibly  reach  within  her  sheltered,  protected  existence 
and  rudely  divert  her  life  from  its  apparently  ordained 
channels.  She  was  the  only  child  of  Dr.  Warner  Dick- 
inson, and  the  name  of  Dr.  Dickinson,  the  child  specialist, 
was  a  shibboleth  in  the  life  of  Chicago's  prosperous  North 
Shore  circles.  Save  for  the  loss  of  his  wife  while  Mar- 

28 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  29 

jorie  was  a  child,  the  rewards  of  a  useful  and  impeccable 
career  were  his  in  full  measure.  His  practice  had  yielded 
him  a  comfortable  fortune.  He  was  respected,  and  even 
honoured;  and  there  was  no  trace  of  weakness  or  of 
avarice  apparent  in  his  character,  until  the  epidemic  of 
"oil-fever"  began  to  sweep  the  country.  Dr.  Dickinson 
had  met  Mr.  Jackson  Bodine,  President  of  the  Pan  Na- 
tional Syndicate,  at  his  club,  and  at  Bodine's  invitation 
had  made  a  journey  to  the  Texas  oil  fields.  The  doctor 
returned  from  the  trip  smitten  with  the  fever  of  specula- 
tion in  its  most  virulent  form.  In  a  short  time  he  gave  up 
his  practice  and  joined  the  throng  of  excited  citizens  of 
all  classes  who  were  pouring  into  the  drab  oil  country  of 
the  Southwest,  drawn  by  the  common  lure  of  the  great  oil 
boom. 

Marjorie  had  been  pleased.  "You  should  have  given 
up  practice  years  ago,"  she  said.  "Now  you  can  get  your 
sleep  at  nights.  Why  don't  you  take  me  with  you  to 
Texas,  daddy?" 

"The  oil  fields  are  not  the  place  for  my  little  Marjie," 
replied  the  doctor,  laughing.  "No;  I'll  take  you  for  a 
trip  some  day,  but  not  down  there." 

During  the  doctor's  absence  Marjorie's  life  continued 
in  its  smooth  channels,  with  no  hint  of  the  cloud  that  was 
gathering  about  her. 

"Yes,  father  has  finally  retired,"  she  replied  to  those 
who  inquired.  "He's  in  Texas  at  present  on  some  busi- 
ness, but  he  will  be  back  soon." 

Dr.  Dickinson  did  not  come  back  soon.  Fortune  ap- 
parently smiled  upon  him  from  the  first.  Mr.  Bodine,  as 
resident  of  the  Pan  National  Syndicate,  frankly  admitting 
that  he  wished  to  associate  with  investors  of  the  doctor's 


3O  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

standing,  let  him  in  on  a  quiet  little  lease  deal;  and  the 
ten  thousand  dollars  which  the  doctor  invested  promptly 
became  thirty  thousand  when  the  lease  was  sold  to  the 
holders  of  Pan  National  stock. 

"Will  you  take  your  nice,  little  profit  and  quit,  doc- 
for?"  asked  Bodine  gravely  as  he  handed  over  the  check; 
but  within  he  was  smiling  confidently.  He  had  seen  too 
many  solid,  elderly  citizens  become  innoculated  with  the 
virus  of  petroleum  speculation  to  have  any  doubts  con- 
cerning the  symptoms  of  the  weakness.  Dr.  Dickinson, 
his  sense  of  greed  awakened  for  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
followed  the  usual  course.  He  disposed  of  the  sound, 
stable  bonds  in  his  safe  deposit  box,  converted  his  income- 
producing  properties  in  Chicago  into  ready  money,  and  be- 
came a  member  of  the  board  of  directors  of  the  Pan  Na- 
tional Syndicate.  Golden  opportunities  seemed  to  present 
themselves  on  every  hand,  and  fabulous  returns  seemed 
certain,  if  one  only  had  the  capital  to  take  advantage  of 
the  situation.  A  mortgage  was  placed  on  the  snug  home 
which  Marjorie  occupied.  And  still  opportunities  crowded 
upon  him;  and  he  had  no  more  capital  with  which  to 
make  them  his.  Presently  he  found  himself  desperately 
scurrying  about  for  means  with  which  to  carry  on  his 
speculations;  and  then  the  demon  of  avarice  whispered: 
"Marjorie!" 

This  thought  had  asserted  itself  soon  after  it  became 
apparent  to  Dr.  Dickinson's  excited  mind  that  Mr.  Bo- 
dine  was  losing  interest  in  him.  In  truth  Bodine  was 
playing  a  game  so  big  that  Dr.  Dickinson,  his  valuable 
standing  and  his  considerable  investment,  represented  only 
a  piece  of  bait,  and  he  was  too  busy  with  new  prospects 
to  waste  much  time  on  an  investor  who  was  landed.  To 


Tar  rant  of  Tin  Spout  31 

the  doctor  the  memory  of  the  private  deal  in  which  Bo- 
dine  had  favored  him  was  like  a  single  drink  of  liquor 
to  a  drunkard.  Driven  by  his  newly  awakened  lust  for 
gold  he  racked  his  brains  for  the  means — any  means ! — to 
recall  his  intimacy  with  Bodine.  He  studied  the  pro- 
moter's character  with  a  view  to  cultivating  him,  and  thus 
the  devil  that  ruled  him  came  to  whisper:  "Marjorie!" 
The  doctor  sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter;  and  Marjorie, 
girlishly  eager  and  obedient,  had  started  for  Texas,  know- 
ing nothing  of  what  lay  behind  her  father's  writing,  or  of 
what  lay  before  her. 

Tin  Spout  had  been  a  rude  revelation  to  her.  Its  crude- 
ness  and  ugliness  had  shocked  and  repelled  her.  She  had 
stepped  from  the  comfort  of  the  Pullman  into  a  sea  of 
mud,  and  from  the  company  of  clean,  well-dressed  pas- 
sengers into  the  midst  of  muddy,  rough-looking  men. 
The  threats  of  the  fat  horseman  and  the  apathy  with 
which  the  men  received  the  imminent  slaughter  of  the 
spotted  pony,  had  further  shocked  her.  She  had  recoiled 
from  the  brutality  of  the  scene,  and  she  had  flown  to  the 
pony's  defense  with  the  budding  woman's  instinct  to  pro- 
tect the  helpless.  And  yet  all  this,  the  ugliness  of  the 
town,  the  roughness  of  the  men,  the  whole  harshness  of 
the  scene,  now  came  back  to  her  blurred  and  softened. 
Those  few  minutes  across  the  table  from  Tarrant  had 
effaced  the  shock  of  her  first  impressions  and  left  her  in  a 
state  of  strange  confusion.  What  sort  of  a  man  was  he, 
to  risk  his  life  on  the  pony  for  the  sake  of  a  jest?  The 
scene  recurred  to  her,  vivified  in  her  memory,  the  spec- 
tacle of  the  maddened  animal  hurling  himself  backward, 
the  tall  rider  apparently  crushed  beneath  him  in  the  splat- 


32  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

tering  mudl  And  then  he  was  on  his  feet,  he  wasn't  hurt 
at  all,  he 1 

Marjorie  suddenly  looked  at  her  hands  and  saw  the 
marks  of  her  nails  in  the  palms.  She  rubbed  her  hands 
together  to  efface  the  marks,  but  halfway  in  the  process 
she  stopped  abruptly.  Would  he  really  attempt  to  find 
her  at  Ranger  Falls  ?  How  old  was  he  ? 

His  face  was  hard  and  lined,  but  his  eyes  were  young, 
like  a  boy's.  What  color  were  they,  blue  or  gray  ?  Gray, 
probably.  And  he  had  ordered  apples ! 

Marjorie's  handkerchief  came  suddenly  into  play  to 
smother  the  laughter  that  bubbled  to  her  lips  and  she 
looked  out  of  the  window  to  hide  her  face  from  her  fellow 
passengers.  An  eight-horse  load  of  casing  was  stuck  in 
the  muddy  road  beside  the  right  of  way  and  the  horses 
were  balking  and  plunging.  A  silk-shirted,  muck-splat- 
tered youth  on  the  driver's  seat  forgot  his  horses  while  he 
enthusiastically  waved  his  hat  at  the  face  pressed  against 
the  Pullman  window,  and  Marjorie  flashed  him  a  smile 
and  waved  back. 

The  train  rolled  on  cautiously  past  the  last  derrick  of 
the  Tin  Spout  field  through  the  open,  unproved  territory, 
where  only  the  wildest  of  wild-cattlers  were  represented  by 
an  occasional  test  well,  the  derrick  weirdly  lone  and  skele- 
ton-like in  the  bleak  landscape,  and  onto  the  open  plains. 
The  oil-boom  had  smitten  the  range  country  and  left  it 
temporarily  barren.  The  great  herds  of  cattle  were  gone 
from  the  ranches  and  only  a  few  steers  or  cows  were 
gathered  around  the  water  tanks.  Areas  of  wheat  and 
corn  land  lay  untilled.  The  ranch  houses  presented  a  de- 
serted appearance.  Land  and  owners  were  marking  time, 
awaiting  the  coming  of  the  oil-man's  drill.  The  Rio 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  33 

Canyado  was  crossed  at  a  snail's  pace,  the  brown  water 
gurgling  hungrily  between  the  ties  of  the  trestle.  There 
was  another  stretch  of  weary  looking  flat  lands,  then  the 
train  climbed  a  leisurely  grade,  topped  a  low  ridge  with  an 
expanse  of  rolling  country  beyond;  and  at  the  scene  which 
presented  itself  Marjorie  temporarily  forgot  Tin  Spout 
and  "at  up  and  stared.  Far  away  toward  the  southern 
horizon  she  saw  what  at  first  appeared  to  be  a  dense  forest 
of  charred  tree  trunks,  and  beyond  that,  marvel  of  mar- 
vels !  rose  what  anywhere  else  she  would  have  concluded 
were  the  tops  of  two  modern  sky-scrapers.  Passengers 
crowded  eagerly  to  the  windows,  and  the  porter  volun- 
teered an  explanation.  The  charred  tree  trunks  were  the 
closely  cluttered  derricks  of  the  Ranger  Falls  oil  field, 
and  the  two  high  buildings  beyond  it  indicated  the  brand 
new  city  which  those  grimy  derricks  had  so  miraculously 
created. 

"Rangeh  Falls,  Rangeh  Falls* 

Marjorie  made  her  preparations  for  alighting  in  a  high 
state  of  excitement  and  anticipation.  Would  Ranger 
Falls  be  like  Tin  Spout?  What  questions  did  she  not 
have  to  ask  her  father ! 

She  was  the  first  to  alight,  hopping  down  from  the  Pull- 
man without  accepting  the  porter's  proffered  help,  eagerly 
searching  the  crowd  for  her  father.  Dr.  Dickinson  was 
not  in  sight,  and  in  her  disappointment  Marjorie  looked 
round  in  bewilderment.  Her  fellow-passengers  soon  were 
lost  in  the  thick  crowd  on  the  station  platform  and  she 
was  left  alone.  She  saw  men  looking  at  her,  and  she 
shuddered  with  disgust  at  the  look  in  their  eyes.  Most 
of  them  were  middle-aged  or  elderly,  their  apparel  and 
jewelry  and  bearing  proclaiming  their  prosperity.  Their 


34  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

faces  bore  in  the  main  the  hard,  ruthless  expression  of 
professional  gamblers;  for  they  were  mostly  promoters 
down  at  the  station  to  look  over  the  potential  investors 
among  the  Limited's  passengers.  There  were  women 
with  hard  faces  and  much  paint  and  jewelry  also  in  the 
station,  and  these,  too,  looked  speculatively  at  the  young 
girl  left  all  alone  and  bewildered  at  the  train.  Marjorie 
lifted  her  chin  and  looked  away.  The  strange  conduct  of 
a  group  of  men  attracted  her  attention.  They  stood  with 
their  backs  to  the  train,  apparently  unconscious  of  its 
thundering  arrival,  or  of  the  clatter  of  descending  pas- 
sengers. She  saw  that  they  were  listening  with  excited 
intentness  to  a  youth  who  was  reading  a  telegram  aloud. 
Men  hurrying  for  the  train,  handbags  in  hand,  were 
caught  by  the  attraction  that  absorbed  the  group  and  for- 
got all  about  the  train. 

"What's  that?  They  brought  in  a  new  well  at  Tin 
Spout?  Who  got  it?  How  much  is  she  doing?" 

"Spence  Tarrant,"  repeated  the  youth  with  the  tele- 
gram. "He's  just  shot  his  wild  cat.  Grogan  wires  it's  a 
little  one." 

"Have  you  got  Tarrant  in  your  Syndicate,  Doc'?" 
queried  a  listener. 

"Not  yet,  not  yet,"  spoke  an  excited  voice  from  the 
heart  of  the  group. 

Marjorie  recognized  the  voice  as  that  of  her  father. 
She  sprang  upon  the  porter's  foot-stool  and  standing  on 
tiptoes  craned  her  neck  to  see  over  the  heads  of  the  ex- 
cited men.  At  length  she  picked  out  her  father  by  his 
head  of  white  hair,  for  Dr.  Dickinson  was  bare-headed, 
his  hat  was  in  his  hand,  and  his  face  was  red  with  excite- 
ment as  he  gesticulated  and  argued  with  the  men  about 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  35 

him.  Through  the  babble  Marjorie  caught  snatches  of 
her  father's  sentences. 

"Absolutely  harmful — bringing  in  small  wells.  New 
day  in  oil  industry. — Small  well  hurts  a  field.  Mr.  Bo- 
dine  makes  that  clear. — Petty  fool  operators  like  Tarrant 
— refuse  advice  from  man  of  his  calibre !" 

He  turned  around.  There  was  a  glaze  of  excitement 
over  his  eyes ;  his  mouth  was  working  at  the  corners,  and 
his  tie  was  awry. 

"Daddy!"  cried  Marjorie. 

He  stared  at  her  for  a  moment  as  if  in  the  stupor  of  a 
frenzy. 

"By  George!  I  nearly  forgot,"  he  exclaimed.  "Mar- 
jie!" 

He  kissed  her  and  by  the  swift,  perfunctoriness  of  the 
kiss  the  girl  sensed  how  great  had  been  the  change  in  him. 

"Your  tie  is  a  sight,  Daddy,"  she  scolded,  and  straight- 
ened it  to  hide  the  effects  of  the  shock  which  he  had  dealt 
her.  , 

"You  were  held  up  at  Tin  Spout,  weren't  you,  Marjie?" 
he  went  on  swiftly.  "Did  you  hear  them  talking  about  a 
new  well  up  there?  Of  course  not  I  It  hadn't  been  shot 

then Well,  well!  I  hope  you  will  enjoy  yourself 

here,  Marjie.  It's  a  wonderful  country;  most  wonderful 
section  of  the  country.  Greatest  opportunities.  Attracts 
the  best  men.  Wonderful  men.  Business  geniuses,  like 
Mr.  Bodine. — Did  you  stand  the  trip  well,  Marjie?"  He 
looked  at  her  with  an  expression  of  appraisal  which  made 
her  uncomfortable.  "By  George,  yes!"  he  said  admir- 
ingly. "Come,  we'll  go  to  the  hotel." 

Marjorie  followed  him  in  something  of  daze.  He  was 
changed  so!  The  thoughtful,  even  absent-minded  phy- 


36  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

sician,  the  grave  but  considerate  father,  were  gone.  His 
gravity  had  become  a  manner  which  approached  close  to 
pompousness,  and  his  considerateness  was  submerged  in 
the  greed  which  swayed  him,  which  brought  the  hungry 
look  into  his  eyes  and  about  his  fine,  strong  mouth. 

"Daddy  f"  she  cried  at  the  sight  of  the  great  car  which 
awaited  them.  "Don't  tell  me  you've  gone  and  bought 
that!" 

"Don't  you  like  it?"  asked  the  doctor. 

Marjorie  contemplated  the  vastness,  the  lurid  red  body, 
the  gilt  and  nickel  trimmings,  the  ornate  chauffeur  of  the 
car. 

"It  looks  like  a  circus  advertisement,"  she  decided. 

"It  is  Mr.  Bodine's  car,"  said  Dr.  Dickinson.    "Get  in." 

Marjorie's  depression  increased  during  the  short  ride  to 
the  hotel.  The  gorgeousness  of  the  suite  into  which  she 
was  shown  did  not  serve  to  relieve  the  mood. 

"It's  too  showy  and  too  rich,"  she  said  after  inspecting 
the  rococco  embellishments  of  the  room.  "Daddy,  please 
— please  tell  me  what  it  means!" 

"It  means  your  old  father  has  finally  got  into  a  live 
game,"  replied  the  retired  specialist  jubilantly.  "If  you 
could  only  appreciate  the  greatness  of  this  game  and  the 

nature  of  the  opportunities Pshaw!  You  don't 

want  to  bother  your  pretty  little  head  about  that,  do  you, 
Marjie  ?  And  quite  right,  too.  You'll  want  to  rest  a  little 
and  change,  won't  you?"  continued  the  doctor  suddenly 
looking  at  his  watch.  "I've  got  to  run  down  to  the  Ex- 
change and  have  a  look  at  the  board.  A  man  has  got  to 
keep  awake  here." 

"Father!"  she  said  softly.  "You  had  forgotten  you 
came  to  the  station  to  meet  me." 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  37 

"That  was  the  man  Tarrant's  doing!"  he  exclaimed, 
entirely  insensible  to  the  reproach  in  her  words.  "Fool- 
ing around  with  small  wells — spoiling  the  reputation  of 
the  field  Mr.  Bodine  is  going  to  operate  in."  He  looked  at 
his  watch  again.  "I  must  be  going.  Be  back  soon." 

The  door  slammed.  Marjorie  stared  at  it  blankly  for  a 
moment.  She  sank  down  in  a  terribly  red  chair.  The 
chair  was  so  large  and  the  upholstery  so  rich  that  she 
seemed  quite  lost  in  it.  She  huddled  together  and  stared 
helplessly  at  the  door.  Intuitively  she  felt  the  contact 
with  the  great  power  which  had  caught  and  changed  her 
father  so  ruthlessly.  What  was  this  change,  what  would 
this  power  mean  to  her?  Her  life-long  reliance  upon  her 
father  had  gone  in  a  few  minutes.  She  no  longer  felt  the 
old  sense  of  complete  security  when  in  his  company.  He 
seemed  almost  a  stranger  to  her!  He  was  not  himself, 
that  was  the  trouble.  He  was  no  longer  Dr.  Warner 
Dickinson.  He  was  merely  a  pawn  in  the  clutch  of  cir- 
cumstances too  strong  for  him.  In  her  depressed  mood 
Marjorie  seemed  to  feel  this  clutch  reaching  forth  to 
menace  her.  With  her  confidence  in  her  father  suddenly 
destroyed  she  felt  that  she  was  in  a  strange  land,  and  alone 
and  helpless.  She  rose  and  looked  out  of  a  window. 
Across  the  street  a  throng  of  men  were  jammed  excitedly 
about  a  doorway  bearing  a  sign:  "Oil  Exchange."  Her 
father  was  the  most  excited  of  those  present.  Marjorie 
shrank  back  from  the  window  and  sank  down  again  into 
the  ornate  red  chair. 


CHAPTER  V 

'T^HE  shooting  of  an  oil  well  is  an  occasion  which  al- 
•*•  ways  draws  a  crowd  of  spectators  in  the  oil  fields. 
It  is  the  moment  when  drama  enters  into  the  development 
of  a  well.  On  the  whole  the  process  of  drilling  for  oil  is 
dull  and  monotonous,  out  of  all  proportion  to  its  potential 
drama.  From  the  time  when  the  first  great  base  timbers 
of  the  derrick  are  rolled  into  place  until  the  final  thud  of 
the  drilling  tools  announces  the  completion  of  the  well  the 
work  is  tedious.  There  is  perhaps  a  thrilling  moment 
when,  with  the  tools  hung  in  place  and  steam  in  the  boiler, 
the  order  to  "spud  in"  is  given  and  several  tons  of  steel 
come  thudding  down  upon  the  huge  steel  bit  and  drive  it 
into  the  virgin  soil.  The  job  has  begun. 

After  that  for  twenty-four  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four 
the  drilling  continues  with  a  monotony  broken  only  by  the 
regular  bailing,  and  perchance  by  accidents.  As  the  drill 
bites  its  way  through  clay,  sand  and  rock  formation  the 
strings  of  casing  follow  it.  At  times  the  tools  are  with- 
drawn to  allow  the  hole  to  be  bailed  out.  Occasionally  the 
drill  breaks  and  is  lost  deep  down  in  the  bowels  of  the 
earth.  Then  a  troublesome  fishing  job  ensues,  when  the 
grappling  iron  and  huge  harpoonlike  tools  are  lowered  into 
the  hole  and,  if  fortune  is  kind  and  the  skill  of  the  fishers 
great,  the  lost  tools  are  brought  to  the  surface.  There- 
upon the  drilling  is  resumed  and  continued  until  the  pay 
sand  is  reached. 

Now  the  climax  approaches.     The  driller  is  to  receive 

38 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  39 

the  answer  to  the  problem  of  weeks  of  toil  and  his  thou- 
sands of  dollars  of  investment.  The  bailings  are  scanned 
closely.  Boiling  water  is  poured  upon  the  sand,  or  other 
tests  applied.  The  oil  gambler  awaits  stoically  the  turn 
of  the  final  card.  The  next  few  hours  may  make  him  rich, 
they  may  merely  pay  for  the  expense  of  drilling  or  they 
may  send  him  forth,  penniless — busted !  It  is  not  a  game 
for  men  with  tremulous  nerves  or  faint  hearts  to  play  at. 

In  Tarrant's  new  well  the  drill  bit  had  been  driven  into 
the  pay  sand  common  to  the  Tin  Spout  field,  a  formation 
so  dense  that  it  did  not  admit  a  free  flow  of  oil  into  the 
hole,  and  as  a  consequence  the  oil  shooter  was  called  in. 

Tarrant's  foreman,  a  grotesquely  tall  and  attenuated 
old  oilman  with  shaggy  eyebrows,  who  answered  to  the 
single  name  of  Elmer,  and  Buck,  the  stocky  young  driller 
who  wore  gaudily  striped  silk  shirts  as  part  of  his  working 
apparel,  were  preparing  the  wire  line  for  lowering  the 
heavy  charge  of  nitroglycerin  into  the  hole. 

"They  tell  me,"  said  Elmer  as  he  wound  the  line  upon 
a  reel,  "that  this  new  Syndicate  outfit  that's  sniffing  round 
is  a  sure  'nough  swell  crowd." 

"I  seen  a  piece  in  the  Gazette  about  it,"  responded  Buck. 
"They've  got  a  fine  showing  of  judges  and  doctors  on 
their  list  of  investors,  and  ministers,  too." 

Elmer  chuckled  softly  in  his  long,  thin  throat. 

There  were  few  of  the  duties  concerned  in  practical  oil 
welling,  from  laying  the  foundation  timbers  of  a  derrick 
to  shooting  pay  sand  with  nitroglycerin,  that  Elmer  could 
not  perform  acceptably.  In  his  time  he  had  been  rig 
builder,  tool  dresser,  engineer,  derrick  man,  platform  man, 
driller,  teamster  and  cook.  In  a  pinch  it  was  rumored  he 
had  posed  as  geologist  for  an  innocent  investor,  and  the 


40  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

anticline  upon  which  he  had  located  the  innocent's  well  had 
proved  upon  drilling  to  be  as  surely  located  directly  above 
a  streak  of  oil  sand  as  if  it  had  been  located  by  a  geologist 
with  a  string  of  letters  after  his  name. 

He  had  spent  many  years  Jn  every  important  field  in 
the  country.  He  had  participated  in  bringing  in  wells 
which  had  created  a  flock  of  new  millionaires;  he  had 
seen  salt  water  and  dry  holes  turn  highest  hopes  into  total 
ruin.  He  was  still  working  for  wages,  for  he  could  do 
almost  anything  in  the  oil  fields — except  make  money  out 
of  them  for  himself. 

"When  them  ministerial  specimens  is  laid  low  by  an 
attack  of  oil  fever  they  gets  it  in  a  most  vy-rulent  form," 
said  he.  "Take  the  average  hombre  who's  been  and  had 
his  share  of  the  stings  and  arrows  of  good  and  bad  luck, 
and  a  case  of  oil  fever  just  sends  him  fair-to-middling 
crazy.  He  up  and  stakes  all  his  dinero  and  his  friends' 
dinero  like  a  little  man,  and  he  sits  down  on  the  platform 
and  rolls  a  smoke  and  says  nothing  when  he  sees  he's 
dropped  the  said  dinero  into  a  dry  hole.  I've  seen  some 
mighty  odd  and  instructive  sights  along  that  line  in  my 
time,"  said  Elmer,  leaning  forward  to  inspect  a  rust  spot 
on  the  wire. 

"I'll  say  you  have,"  said  Buck.  "A  whopping  lot  more 
than  any  gent  with  any  respect  for  the  truth  ever  could 
see." 

"There  was  a  hombre  set  up  his  rig  as  a  preacher  out  in 
the  Bakersfield  field,"  continued  Elmer  undisturbed.  "He 
was  as  nice  a  little  sin  shooter  as  ever  brought  the  light  to 
an  undeserving  crew  of  roughnecks  and  passed  the  hat 
afterwards.  Mind  you,  I  ain't  saying  he  was  a  regular 
foredoomed  and  licensed  minister,  because  it  came  out 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

afterwards  that  he  wasn't  anything  but  a  choir  singer 
who'd  set  out  to  do  the  best  he  could  for  himself,  but  I  am 
saying  that  when  it  came  to  spudding  in  on  a  job  of  sin 
shooting  and  hammering  away  on  the  stem  of  salvation 
Brother  Almy  was  as  near  to  being  standard-rig  cable 
tools  as  benighted  roughnecks  like  you,  Buck,  are  apt  to  be 
allowed  to  see. 

"I've  seen  men  cold  sober  as  we  be  right  at  this  minute 
throw  a  twenty  into  the  hat  after  Brother  Almy  got 
through  preaching — and  no  Confed'rate  money  either. 
Then  Almy'd  stuff  the  dinero  into  his  pockets  and  thank 
the  boys  and  say  that  wasn't  what  he  was  after;  he  was 
after  souls.  He  certainly  was  one  stiff  driller  for  souls! 
Not  that  he  did  so  well  that  way  as  with  the  collection. 
I've  noticed,"  said  Elmer,  "that's  it's  easier  to  make  a 
gang  of  roughnecks  give  up  a  slice  of  their  pay  than  to 
make  'em  give  up  their  souls." 

"Souls?"  scoffed  Buck.  "Why,  Elmer,  it  would  be  a 
waste  to  give  roughnecks  like  you  a  trace  of  soul." 

"Almy  hung  round  this  boom  camp  for  some  time," 
Elmer  went  on  serenely,  "and  some  of  the  boys  said  he 
was  picking  up  a  little  lease  here  and  there  with  the  money 
he  got  in  the  hat,  but  we  never  believed  it  at  first  because 
he  panned  the  spirit  of  greed  too  strong  to  look  like  a 
victim  of  oil  fever.  Then  one  evening  he  held  a  meeting 
to  celebrate  how  he's  brought  in  a  sinner's  soul.  His  vic- 
tim was  a  Cousin  Jack  who  hauled  nitroglycerin.  It  seems 
this  Cousin  Jack  had  driven  off  the  road  into  a  gulley  and 
the  stuff  hadn't  let  go,  so  being  a  Cousin  Jack  he  just  nat- 
urally went  straight  to  the  mourner's  bench. 

"Brother  Almy  sure  did  lay  that  nitro  teamster  out 
lower  than  a  snake's  belly.  There  wasn't  anything  mean 


42  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

he  didn't  say  about  him.  'But  even  such  as  he  may  be 
saved  if  they  submit  humbly/  says  he;  and  just  then, 
whoosh !  a  well  came  in  flowing  near  us  and  the  air  was 
full  of  noise  and  the  smell  of  fresh  oil.  Brother  Almy 
jumped  four  feet  and  started  running.  'Hey!  How 
about  this  poor  sinner?'  says  someone.  'Oh,  to  hell  with 
him!'  says  Almy.  'That  well  will  go  a  thousand  barrels  a 
day  and  it's  on  my  lease !' ' 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  Then  with  brutal  in- 
difference Buck  said : 

"I  heard  it  about  a  gold  camp." 

"You — what?"  demanded  Elmer. 

"It's  an  old  one,"  said  Buck.  "They  were  burying  a 
fellow,  and  the  preacher  who  was  a  fake  like  this  Almy  of 
yours  picked  up  a  handful  of  dirt  to  throw  on  the  coffin, 
and  he  happened  to  look  at  it  and  run  it  through  his 
ringers,  and  then  he  yelled:  'Sink  him  some  place  else!  I 
stake  out  this  claim.  This  is  pay  dirt !'  ' 

Elmer  completed  his  task  of  winding  the  wire  line  upon 
the  reel  before  replying. 

"I  knew  a  party  by  the  name  of  Buck  once  who  was  a 
pretty  decent  citizen,"  said  he,  "but  he  went  up  into  the 
old  Indian  Territory  and  some  woman  up  and  married 
him.  Since  then  I  ain't  met  no  one  named  Buck  who  was 
anywheres  near  human." 

"Here's  the  boss,"  interrupted  Buck  as  Tarrant  a]> 
proached. 

"She's  all  set,  Spence,"  said  Elmer  when  Tarrant  came 
up  to  the  well.  "Jim  Hennessy  can  come  any  time " 

He  stopped  suddenly,  for  he  saw  that  his  employer  was 
not  listening.  Tarrant  had  halted  abruptly  and  was  look- 
ing across  the  platform  in  the  direction  of  the  slush  pool. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  43 

Elmer  slowly  followed  the  direction  of  his  eyes  and  saw 
that  Tarrant  was  looking  hard  at  a  swarthy- faced  man 
with  a  scar  on  one  side  of  his  face.  The  man  was  exam- 
ining the  contents  of  the  slush  pool,  where  the  bailings 
from  the  well  had  been  poured,  with  the  air  of  an  inter- 
ested expert.  Also,  he  had  between  his  thin  lips  a  lighted 
cigarette. 

Tarrant  went  softly  across  the  platform. 

"I'd  be  obliged,"  said  he  quietly,  "if  you  'would  not 
smoke." 

Grogan  turned,  and  deliberately  took  the  cigarette  from 
his  mouth.  He  looked  at  Tarrant  and  raised  the  cigarette 
toward  his  lips.  There  was  a  tigerish  movement  on  Tar- 
rant's  part,  an  oath  of  surprise  from  Grogan,  and  the 
lighted  cigarette  went  flying  into  a  near-by  mud  puddle. 
From  Tarrant's  barely  parted  lips  issued  softly  the  single 
word:  "Travel!" 

Grogan's  face  was  a  revelation.  It  seemed  as  if  Tar- 
rant's  action  had  stripped  a  mask  from  him.  His  eyelids 
were  narrowed  to  slits.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  light 
in  the  eyes  behind  them.  His  hands  moved  toward  his 
hips  and  stopped. 

"Fellow,"  came  Tarrant's  voice  icily,  "you  are  nominat- 
ing yourself  to  get  hurt — bad!" 

The  scarred  man  seemed  to  debate  with  himself  for  a 
few  seconds.  Finally  he  drew  back,  a  sneering  smile  on 
his  lips. 

"They  told  me  you  were  hard,"  he  said  mockingly. 
"All  right.  You  have  sure  declared  yourself." 

Elmer's  shaggy  white  brows  were  drawn  far  down  over 
his  eyes  as  he  watched  the  stranger  move  away. 

"A  killer !"  he  muttered. 


44  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"That  breed  has  gone  out  of  fashion,"  Contra'dicted 
Buck. 

"So  have  rattlesnakes,"  retorted  Elmer.  "Don't  I  know 
the  breed?  There's  poison  in  the  air  round  that  hombre." 

"There  is  something  about  him,  too,"  continued  the  old 
man  slowly;  "a  quarter  Spaniard  is  about  how  he's  bred. 
I  suspect  I  have  seen  him  somewhere  before.'* 

"Been  in  jail  with  him  somewhere  probably,"  suggested 
Buck. 

"Might  be,"  agreed  Elmer.  "No,  it  don't  seem  like  that 
either.  He's  an  oilman.  Did  you  see  him  size  up  the 
slush?  I've  seen  that  jasper  in  some  oil  field." 

"Probably  when  you  were  drilling  on  Mars,"  put  in 
Buck. 

"Do  they  habla  Espanol  on  Mars,  Buck?" 

"They  might.    Why?" 

"Wherever  it  was  I  saw  that  hombre  he  was  talking 
Spig,"  muttered  Elmer.  "It  must  have  been  down  in  Old 
Mexico.  But  I've  seen  him  some  place  shore  'nough,  and 
I'm  gambling  wherever  he  was  there  was  trouble." 

A  motor  car  with  a  body  resembling  that  of  a  small 
delivery  wagon,  the  whole  painted  a  vivid  red,  came  rum- 
bling along  the  muddy  road  toward  the  well.  It  jolted 
and  lurched  through  the  ruts  and  pitch  holes  of  the  road 
like  any  of  the  other  insignificant  mud-covered  machines 
which  were  being  driven  that  way,  but  at  its  approach  the 
other  machines,  no  matter  how  fast,  hurried  to  pull  wide 
to  allow  it  to  pass.  At  the  well  its  appearance  was  the 
signal  for  the  spectators  to  retreat  precipitately  to  a  safe 
distance.  The  reason  was  apparent  when  the  car  drew 
near,  for  on  its  sides  was  painted  in  huge  letters :  "Nitro- 
glycerin." 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  45 

Hennessy,  the  well  shooter,  swung  off  the  road  and 
came  jolting  over  the  rough  ground  toward  the  derrick. 

"I'm  a  little  late,"  he  said.  "A  fool  service-car  man 
swung  out  of  the  garage  as  I  was  passing  and  hit  me 
there."  He  pointed  to  a  badly  damaged  mud  guard. 
'Thought  for  awhile  I'd  have  to  fight  him  to  make  him 
pay  up." 

He  produced  a  long  tin  shell  from  his  car  and  hooked  it 
to  the  wire  line  over  the  casing.  From  the  cloth-lined 
frames  in  the  box  of  his  car  he  carried  a  number  of  tin 
cans  and  poured  their  contents  into  the  shell.  The  liquid 
which  he  poured  resembled  harmless  sirup,  but  the  careful 
manner  in  which  Hennessy  lowered  the  filled  shells  to  the 
bottom  of  the  well  told  what  the  stuff  was.  The  charge 
was  then  tamped  by  pouring  a  quantity  of  water  on  top  of 
the  shell,  and  the  crew  with  Buck  and  Elmer  ran  for 
safety. 

Tarrant  followed,  leaving  Hennessy  alone  by  the 
charged  well.  The  shooter  glanced  about  to  make  sure  no 
one  had  remained  within  the  zone  of  danger.  Then  he 
lighted  the  fuse,  dropped  the  go-devil  down  the  hole  and 
ran. 

There  was  a  period  of  complete  silence.  Presently 
from  the  top  of  the  hole  came  a  report,  no  louder  than  a 
pistol  shot.  And  then  the  earth  shook  for  rods  round. 
There  was  a  shriek  of  wind,  as  of  a  pent-up  hurricane 
striving  to  vent  its  roar  through  an  eight-inch  hole.  A 
roar  that  seemed  to  approach  from  far  off  mingled  its  deep 
bass  with  the  deafening  shriek.  The  roar  came  nearer, 
and  with  it  rose  the  crescendo  of  whistling  air.  And  the 
roar  grew  louder.  It  seemed  like  the  voice  of  some  great 
beast  growling  inarticulately.  Louder  and  louder  it  grew, 


46  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

deeper  and  deeper  its  tone,  until  the  deafening  whistle  was 
drowned  in  the  rising  volcano  of  noise. 

And  then,  with  a  final  roar  the  rising  flood  of  oil  and 
water  flung  itself  out  of  the  casing  head.  It  splattered 
the  derrick  and  platform.  The  air  was  filled  with  the 
odour  of  fresh  oil.  For  a  moment  hope  ran  high.  And 
then  the  rising  column  descended  to  a  disappointing 
trickle.  The  oil  flowed  weakly  over  the  head  of  the  casing, 
and  that  was  all. 

The  disappointing  result  of  the  shot  seemed  to  make  no 
impression  on  Tarrant. 

"We'll  let  her  blow  herself  out,  same  as  if  she  was  a 
real  oil  well,"  he  said  quietly  to  the  crew. 

"She  may  do  something  good  on  the  jack,"  consoled 
Hennessy. 

"She'll  yield  enough  to  give  me  what  I  am  after,"  said 
Tarrant  easily. 

"What's  that?" 

"Money  enough  to  drill  my  new  wild-cat,"  replied  Tar- 
rant. "That's  what  I  was  after." 


CHAPTER  VI 

"V^OU  can  do  a  lot  better  than  waste  your  time  that 
way,"  interjected  Wayne.  "Wild-catting  is  a  darn 
poor  way  for  a  man  to  spend  the  proceeds  from  his  pro- 
ducing wells." 

"You  think  it  is,  do  you,  Wayne?"  said  Tarrant  mildly. 

"I  know  it  is,"  retorted  Wayne.  "Wild-catting  is  all 
right  if  you  can't  do  anything  better.  It  used  to  be  all 
right  here.  It  isn't  any  more.  There's  an  opportunity  for 
something  a  thousand  times  better  showing  itself. 

"Here  is  this  little  well  that  you  have  brought  in,"  he 
went  on.  "How  much  time  and  worry  did  you  put  into 
it,  and  how  much  will  it  bring  you  in?  Figure  it  up.  If 
you  had  fifty  or  sixty  of  them  on  the  jack  I'm  not  saying  it 
wouldn't  amount  to  something  worth  while.  Do  you  ever 
expect  to  have  that  many  pumpers  here?  No,  you're 
darn  whistling  you  don't.  You  know  better.  What's 
the  answer  then?  Figure  up  everything  you've  got,  and 
your  new  wildcat  and  everything,  and  what  have  you  got 
for  prospects?  Darn  little  and  darn  slow,  and  nothing 
big  to  look  forward  to.  That  is  what  this  field  means — 
that's  absolutely  all — if  we  keep  working  here  as  we  have 
been  doing. 

"I  tell  you,  Spence,  there  isn't  enough  money  in  that 
game,"  he  concluded  vehemently.  "This  field  isn't  good 
enough  the  way  we're  playing  it.  And  here  Mr.  Bodine 
comes  through  with  the  big  idea." 

"What  is  his  idea?"  said  Tarrant. 

47 


48  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"Organisation,  consolidation,  control,"  replied  Wayne 
promptly. 

"I  know,  but  what's  his  game?"  said  Tarrant. 

"I  am  trying  to  explain." 

"I  mean  his  own  personal  game?  Is  he  an  oilman,  a 
financier  or  what?" 

"Bodine  is  a  big  man,"  said  Wayne.  "Big  ideas,  big 
vision.  It  takes  a  man  like  him  to  see  what  this  field 
needs." 

"What  it  needs,"  said  Tarrant,  "is  a  man  who  is  good 
enough  oilman  to  hit  the  big  pool  we  are  all  drilling  for." 

"And  not  finding,"  snapped  Wayne. 

"Not  yet,"  agreed  Tarrant. 

"Not  even  a  sign  of  it,"  said  Wayne. 

"Not  a  sign  yet" 

"And  Bodine  comes  here  with  a  proposition  which  is 
just  as  big  as  the  big  pool  would  be  if  we  hit  it,"  continued 
Wayne.  "A  hundred-million-dollar  proposition.  He  can 
swing  it.  Don't  worry  about  that.  He  can  swing  any  deal 
he  takes  hold  of.  They  don't  come  too  big  for  him.  I 
know  how  he  got  his  start.  He  used  to  be  a  gambler.  He 
doesn't  make  any  bones  about  it.  He  was  busted,  flat  as 
a  roughneck  after  two  days  in  town.  All  he  had  was  an 
accident  policy  and  a  revolver.  That  was  enough. 

"He  was  cleaning  the  revolver  one  day  and  it  went  off. 
Understand?  Shot  himself  through  his  left  hand.  He 
collected  $1500  for  it  on  his  policy.  With  $1200  of  that 
he  got  a  thirty-day  option  on  a  little  refinery.  Then  he 
went  to  New  York  to  raise  some  money.  It  took  him 
about  two  days  to  pick  out  his  man — one  of  the  real  big" 
guns  up  there.  Bodine  trailed  him  to  a  restaurant  and 
accidentally  knocked  over  his  man's  cocktail,  apologised, 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  49 

introduced  himself,  got  invited  to  sit  down,  and  came 
away  with  backing  of  a  hundred  thousand  dollars.  In  a 
few  weeks  Bodine  had  the  hundred  thousand  as  working 
capital  and  the  New  Yorker  had  some  stock. 

"Now,  Tarrant,  how  in  the  name  of  calm,  cold  business 
sense  do  you  expect  to  buck  a  man  like  that  ?  Why  should 
you  want  to  buck  him?  He's  a  star.  He's  the  next  big 
man  in  the  oil  business  in  this  country.  Do  you  know 
what  a  chance  we  have  got — us  small  operators  here? 
He  wants  us  with  him.  We  have  got  a  chance  to  be  Bo- 
dine's  partners !" 

"And  that  hard-boiled  party,  name  of  Grogan,"  said 
Tarrant,  "I  suppose  we  have  got  a  chance  to  be  his  part- 
ner, too?" 

"Oh,  Grogan  doesn't  amount  to  anything,"  replied 
Wayne  impatiently.  "He's  merely  Bodine's  confidential 
man.  The  Pan-National  will  have  a  big  pay  roll  when  they 
get  going.  Bodine  will  need  a  man  like  Grogan  to  watch 
things." 

"Well,  I  will  say  he  is  a  good  one  for  that  kind  of  a 
job,"  agreed  Tarrant 

"Every  man  that  Bodine  picks  is  a  good  one  for  his 
job,"  broke  out  the  other  enthusiastically.  "I  tell  you, 
Spence,  he's  a  wonder.  Look  at  Doctor  Dickinson;  he 
threw  up  a  fine  society  practice  on  the  North  Side  in  Chi- 
cago to  join  Bodine.  If  men  like  that  can  afford  to  be  his 
partners  I  guess  we  can.  I  tell  you  he'll  make  millionaires 
of  all  of  us." 

"Wayne,"  drawled  Tarrant,  "did  you  ever  hear  about 
what  happened  to  the  jack  rabbit  that  went  into  partner- 
ship with  the  coyote?  The  coyote  had  one  good  meal." 

"It's  better  to  be  in  a  big  combine  like  this  than  to  be 


50  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

on  the  outside  when  they've  gobbled  the  whole  field,"  re- 
torted Wayne. 

"Is  that  what  they  are  after  here?" 

Wayne  nodded.  "They  plan  on  a  big  scale,"  he  ex- 
plained. 

"I'm  not  afraid  of  that  'gobbling'  idea,"  said  Tarrant. 
"This  country  is  too  big  to  be  gobbled  up.  They  might 
grab  a  lot  of  it,  but  there's  always  room  beyond  the  hori- 
zon for  the  man  who  has  the  backbone  to  strike  off  for 
himself.  Why,  man,  I've  been  gobbled  up  so  often  in  my 
checkered  career  that  it  does  not  scare  me  at  all.  Up  in 
the  Gushing  field  I  was  gobbled  so  hard  they  took  my  rig 
away.  Over  in  Louisiana  they  had  me  working  as  a 
driller.  These  little  wells  I'm  getting  now  are  stake 
money,  Wayne.  I'll  get  a  real  oil  well  with  the  stakes  they 
give  me.  Sabe  the  game  as  I  play  it  ?" 

"You're  a  natural-born  wildcatter  on  a  big  scale,  that's 
all,"  said  Wayne. 

"All  right,  Wayney!"  laughed  Tarrant.  "And  I'll 
come  back  and  say  you're  a  good  little  fellow,  but  you're 
running  with  the  wrong  herd." 

"This  herd,  as  you  call  it,  has  brains  enough  at  least  to 
turn  a  cheap  field  into  a  great  financial  proposition,"  re- 
torted Wayne. 

"I  don't  know  so  much  about  the  financial  end  of  it," 
said  Tarrant,  "but  I'm  kidding  myself  that  I  do  know 
something  about  getting  oil  in  this  field.  I  put  in  a  lot  of 
years  learning  the  game  and  hunting  for  the  sort  of  struc- 
ture that  looked  good  to  me,  and  this  little  field  is  it.  I 
haven't  brought  in  anything  big  yet,  but  on  the  other  hand 
you'll  notice  I  don't  drill  many  dry  holes  or  get  into  salt 
water  often.  I  will  hit  it  big  here.  I'll  do  it  or  I'll  go 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  51 

broke  so  hard  there  won't  be  much  left.  No;  Bodine  is 
after  sucker  money " 

"Hold  on,  Spence!  He's  after  consolidation  that  will 
make  the  field  an  inviting  investment  proposition,"  inter- 
rupted Wayne. 

"Sucker  money,  I  said,  and  I'll  let  her  lay,"  persisted 
Tarrant.  "That's  all  right,  too,  if  that's  what  you're  after. 
There's  enough  of  them  running  round  loose  yearning  for 
somebody  to  take  it  away  from  them.  Personally,  I'm  too 
much  interested  in  the  oil-well  business  to  have  any  inter- 
est left  over  for  the  easy-money  game.  I  am  after  oil. 
There's  more  of  it  round  here  than  we've  touched  so  far. 
I'm  hunting  for  that  big  pool." 

"Yes,  and  if  it  could  be  found  you  would  find  it,"  said 
Wayne.  "That's  why  we  want  you  with  us." 

Tarrant's  eyes  searched  his  with  a  sudden  flash. 

"Us,  eh?"  he  said,  and  was  silent. 

Wayne  looked  away,  chewing  his  cigar. 

"You've  thrown  in  with  Bodine,  then?"  said  Tarrant 
quietly.  "I  don't  remember  your  telling  me." 

"I  was  going  to  tell  you,  Spence,"  protested  Wayne. 
"There  wasn't  time.  I  had  to  get  in  at  once  or  not  at  all. 
It  was  too  big  a  chance  to  overlook.  My  wife  wanted  me 
to  do  it,  too.  As  she  said,  we  weren't  getting  along  very 
fast,  and  this  was  our  chance  for  big  money." 

"I  suppose  it  does  make  a  difference  if  you  are  mar- 
ried," said  Tarrant  thoughtfully. 

"It  makes  a  difference  to  have  a  bonanza  offered  you," 
said  Wayne. 

"And  Bodine  has  got  your  lease,  I  reckon?" 

"Not  at  all.  It  is  part  of  the  Pan-National  Syndicate 
holdings,  and  I'm  an  officer  in  the  company.  I  traded  a 


52  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

gamble  for  a  sure  thing.  Spence,  you  must  do  the  same 
thing:  trade  a  gamble  for  a  sure  thing." 

Tarrant  leaned  back  against  the  derrick  and  smiled. 

"Wayne,  if  it  wasn't  for  the  gamble  I  doubt  if  I'd  be  in 
the  oil  game,"  he  said.  "It's  the  gamble  that  makes  it 
what  it  is.  That's  what  gets  me.  We  are  spudding  in 
Well  No.  5  out  on  my  wildcat  lease  south  of  town.  What 
will  the  drill  hit  ?  Will  it  be  pay  sand,  salt  water  or  noth- 
ing? Don't  talk  to  me  about  a  sure  thing  financially? 
Man,  I've  seen  and  heard  my  own  oil  drumming  against 
the  crown  block,  and  that's  what  I  am  hoping  to  hear 
again." 

"Go  down  to  Ranger  Falls  and  talk  with  Bodine, 
Spence,"  broke  out  Wayne.  "I  can't  convince  you,  I  see 
that.  He  can.  He'll  make  you  see  you  can't  afford  to  stay 
out.  He  asked  me  to  invite  you  to  a  conference  with  him." 

"Did  he?"  said  Tarrant.  "That  was  friendly  of  him, 
at  least." 

He  pondered  a  moment,  apparently  deep  in  the  in- 
'ricacies  of  the  problem  confronting  him.  * 

"Wayne,"  he  said  casually,  "did  you  say  something 
about  a  party  named  Doctor  Dickinson  down  there?" 

"Doctor  Dickinson  is  one  of  the  big  stockholders  in  the 
syndicate,"  was  the  prompt  reply.  "I  understand  he's  put 
a  hundred  thousand  dollars  in." 

"I  reckon  this  Doctor  Dickinson  and  Bodine  are  pretty 
close  then?" 

"I  should  say  they  are,"  said  Wayne.  "The  doctor 
never  gets  tired  of  talking  about  Bodine.  He  thinks  there 
is  nobody  like  him." 

"Does  he?"  asked  Tarrant  sharply. 

"He  certainly  does,"  was  the  emphatic  answer.    "I  tell 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  53 

you,  Spence,  this  man  Bodme  is  a  wonder.  He  impresses 
and  attracts  everybody  he  talks  to — operators,  investors, 
men  or  women.  He's  a  born  winner.  You  must  go  down 
to  the  Falls." 

"I  will,"  said  Tarrant,  suddenly.     "Yes,  I  sure  will  do 
•that  little  thing." 


CHAPTER  VII 

WHEN  the  ultimate  historian,  in  the  distant  future, 
completes  the  record  of  the  forces  which  have  as- 
sisted in  determining  and  molding  the  character  of  this 
country  his  labors  will  be  incomplete  unless  he  appreciates 
the  importance  of  the  story  of  the  oil  booms  of  the  South- 
west. Climate,  soil,  and  resources,  material  and  human, 
serve  to  create  the  fires  from  which  rises  the  spirit  which 
men  speak  of  as  the  soul  of  a  nation.  How  could  the 
spirit  of  a  nation  be  anything  but  one  of  overweening 
optimism  when  the  earth  itself  turns  out  surprises  and 
millions  beyond  the  wildest  dreams  of  its  people? 

The  oil  craze  was  one  of  the  outbursts  of  colossal,  raw 
forces  which,  like  mighty,  unknown  springs  suddenly 
welling  forth,  ever  and  anon  burst  into  the  current  of 
American  life,  expanding,  accelerating,  unsettling  and 
finally  molding  the  destiny  of  her  people.  The  fertile  farm 
lands  of  the  central  area,  the  precious  metals  of  the  West, 
the  timber  of  the  North,  each  had  its  day,  its  fire,  its 
hammer  and  anvil  to  beat  upon  the  metal  of  the  nation. 
The  oil  force  comes  most  recently  of  all;  its  importance 
and  influence  are  yet  to  be  determined. 

Beneath  soil  upon  which  farmers  and  ranchers  toiled 
ceaselessly  for  a  scant  livelihood  there  lay  hidden  the  force 
which  was  to  revolutionize  life  in  this  section  of  the  coun- 
try. As  always  happens  the  hidden  resource  in  time  finds 
the  men  for  its  purpose.  The  right  men  came  to  the  oil 
fields,  and  suddenly  the  mode  of  life  there  was  upset,  gal- 
vanized; the  old  discarded  and  thrown  away,  the  new 

54 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  55 

entered  upon  hecticly.  The  land  was  filled  with  a  horde 
of  little  machines  panting  for  gasoline.  Crude  oil  leaped 
in  price  until  old-time  operators  doubted  their  eyes.  The 
broad,  rolling  sweep  of  the  oil-field  country,  illimitable 
as  the  untrammeled  sea,  was  suddenly  covered  with  men 
of  a  type  too  vital  for  the  slower  industries,  too  energetic 
for  reflection.  By  the  thousands  they  came,  translating 
the  energy  of  the  American  spirit  into  fabulous  accom- 
plishment, tearing  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth  where  the 
oil  by  hidden. 

The  country  saw  a  torrent  of  galvanic  force  come  pour- 
ing forth,  carrying  humans  away  on  its  flood,  some  to 
wreck  and  ruin,  some  to  unbelievably  great  and  easy  for- 
tunes. It  spread  across  the  land.  In  its  wake  rose  modern 
cities,  skyscrapers,  gilded  hotels,  smoky  industries,  crudely 
sybaritic  homes,  boulevards.  In  its  wake  men  would  lie 
ruined  and  broken;  on  its  crests  some  would  ride  to  ma- 
terial glory.  It  was  not  theirs  to  say.  The  oil  determined 
their  fate.  It  was  the  force,  a  power  which  none  could 
resist,  a  thick,  black  torrent  of  liquid  gold,  bearing  all  men 
in  its  path  on  to  strange  destinies. 

The  city  of  Ranger  Falls  was  one  of  the  dramatic  mani- 
festations of  this  force.  Man  of  his  own  free  will  would 
not  have  selected  it  as  a  site  for  a  city.  The  location  was 
far  from  logical.  Far  from  the  natural  flow  of  popu- 
lation, it  had  long  existed  in  its  environment  of  poor  soil 
as  a  dejected  cattle  town.  Climate  and  water  were  equally 
unfavorable;  and  the  Rio  Canyada,  trickling  over  a  two- 
foot  ledge  to  give  the  place  its  name,  was  at  times  a  muddy 
streak  through  the  prairie ;  or,  after  cloud-bursts,  a  raging, 
impassable  torrent.  But  there  was  oil  beneath  that  barren 
topsoil,  and  a  city  rose  out  of  the  cow  town.  Where,  a 


56  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

few  years  before,  lean,  brown-faced  riders  had  tied  their 
wiry  ponies  to  a  well-chewed  hitch  rail,  a  hundred  motor 
cars,  ranging  from  small  service  cars  to  glistening  limou- 
sines, were  parked  at  the  proper  angle  decreed  by  the  traffic 
committee  of  the  Chamber  of  Commerce.  There  was  gilt 
on  the  uniforms  of  coloured  elevator  men  in  the  office 
buildings,  and  the  gilded  youth  of  the  town  were  wearing 
slim-waisted  coats  belted  in  the  back. 

Tarrant  had  known  the  Falls  when  it  was  what  it  would 
have  continued  to  be  till  sunk  in  the  dust  of  time  save  for 
the  oil  boom,  but  he  found  the  new  city  more  to  his  liking. 
A  tub  bath  was  a  relief  from  the  necessary  daily  showers 
at  the  well,  and  the  service  at  the  barber  shop  and  the  food 
in  the  dining  room  of  the  Jake  Stringer  House  were  grati- 
fying after  weeks  in  the  field.  Night  was  drawing  on 
when,  carefully  refreshed  and  groomed,  he  seated  himself 
in  the  lobby  and  looked  about. 

Jake  Stringer  had  erected  the  hostelry  that  bore  his 
name  out  of  the  first  million  dollars  of  his  oil  royalties. 
It  was  twelve  stories  from  lobby  to  roof  garden,  and  the 
governor's  suite  had  as  deep  carpets  as  any  room  in  New 
York.  Guests  sat  in  their  rooms  and  dropped  a  dime  in  a 
slot  and  an  electric  fan  soothed  the  fevered  brow  for  thirty 
minutes  by  the  clock.  Smoothly  gliding  elevators,  oper- 
ated by  attendants  in  maroon  and  gilt,  whisked  one  up  to 
the  roof  where  a  coloured  orchestra  produced  jazz,  or 
down  to  a  gilded  lobby  where  a  white  orchestra  on  a  bal- 
cony functioned  similarly.  "Silk  shirts  laundered  at  own- 
er's risk"  warned  a  red  line  on  the  laundry  slips ;  and  Jake 
Stringer  sat  on  a  rocking  chair  in  the  lobby  with  a  fly  bat 
in  his  fat  hands  and  killed  flies.  This  constituted  his  work 
and  his  recreation. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  57 

"Always  wanted  to,"  he  explained.  "Never  hada 
chance  before.  Darn  it!"  as  he  missed.  "I'll  get  him 
yet!" 

The  supply  of  flies  never  diminished,  so  Jake  was  quite 
content  with  his  famous  establishment. 

"Evening,  Spence,  evening,"  greeted  Stringer,  as  he 
saw  Tarrant. 

"Hello,  Jake,"  said  Tarrant.  "Killing  many  this 
evening?" 

"Oh,  tol'able,  Spence,  tol'able,"  replied  the  boniface. 

"I "  Swish!  "Darn  that  old  bluebottle!  Fooled  me 

twice  now.  Say,  Spence,  you  know  that  option  of  yours 
on  my  section  of  the  old  88  Ranch  up  northwest  of  you  is 
pretty  nigh  petering  out,  don't  you?" 

"Want  to  buy  it  back,  Jake?"  asked  Tarrant  instantly. 

"Who?  Me?  Me "  The  proprietor  of  the  Jake 

Stringer  House  paused  to  miss  another  fly — "me  buy  back 
that  damn  wildcat  territory?  I  ain't  crazy  yet,  even  if 
certain  other  parties  are." 

"Who,  for  instance  ?"  demanded  Tarrant. 

"That" — swish! — "new  Pan-National  Syndicate,"  re- 
plied Stringer.  "They're  a  pack  of  hungry  lease  hounds 
if  there  ever  was  one." 

Tarrant  considered  a  moment.  The  tract  under  con- 
sideration adjoined  the  Tin  Spout  field  on  the  northwest, 
and  was  such  rank  wildcat  territory  that  Tarrant  had  ac- 
quired an  option  on  the  lease  which  Stringer  held  on  the 
section  when  he  first  began  to  operate  in  the  Tin  Spout 
field,  just  as  he  had  secured  other  options  and  leases  which 
were  available.  His  efforts  to  locate  the  great  pool  of  oil, 
which  his  geological  knowledge,  experience  and  faith  told 
him  must  lie  somewhere  in  the  Tin  Spout  field,  had  so  far 


58  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

proved  unavailing,  and  he  had  sold  several  leases  and  let 
various  options  lapse  to  acquire  capital  to  continue  drill- 
ing. There  had  been  no  market  for  the  88  Ranch  option 
save  at  a  losing  figure,  so  he  had  held  on.  It  was  one  of 
the  gambles  which  oil  operators  make  as  a  matter  of 
course,  and  he  had  come  to  regard  it  as  a  probable  loss. 
With  the  news  that  someone  else  had  queried  concerning  it 
the  tract  instantly  rose  in  value. 

"Does  the  Syndicate  want  it?"  he  asked. 

"So  far  as  I  can  make  out,  Spence,"  replied  Stringer, 
"that  Syndicate  wants  everything  up  there  they  can  get 
hold  of." 

"Did  they  make  you  an  offer?" 

"I  didn't  give  them  a  chance,"  was  the  response.  "They 
wouldn't  offer  anything  worth  sneezing  at  now,  but  by 
the  time  your  option  runs  out  there  ought  to  be  a  market 
for  everything  up  there,  if  they  make  their  boom  good.  I 
wouldn't  renew  even  with  you,  Spence.  I've  got  sixty 
days  after  your  option  expires  to  renew  in,  and  I  expect 
I'll  be  able  to  do  some  right  smart  dickering  in  those  same 
sixty  days.  We're  friends,  Spence,  so  I  wanted  to  remind 
you.  You  look  sharp  when  your  option  expires  if  you 
expect  to  renew.  I'm  not  playing  any  favourites  then,  and 
I'm  telling  you  it  will  be  first  come  first  served." 

"If  I'm  wanting  it  then  I'll  aim  to  be  first,"  said  Tar- 
rant. 

"Then  you'll  have  to  step  pretty,"  Stringer  retorted,  as 
he  rose  to  go,  "because  if  it  comes  to  a  race  I'm  telling 
you  you're  hooked  up  with  some  mighty  fast  company." 

Tarrant  was  glad  when  Stringer  had  gone.  He  had 
not  come  to  Ranger  Falls  to  talk  about  oil  leases.  In  fact 
he  had  not  come  on  oil  business  at  all.  He  had  come  be- 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  59 

cause  the  girl  who  had  spoken  up  for  Nine  Spot  was  at 
Ranger  Falls.  A  hunger  had  grown  in  his  heart  for  an- 
other sight  of  her  young  beauty.  There  had  been  little 
beauty  in  his  life.  A  career  in  the  oil  fields,  especially  if 
one  has  a  penchant  for  wildcatting,  is  not  apt  to  bring  one 
in  contact  with  aught  that  is  not  rough  and  hard  and  ugly. 

Tarrant  had  worked  in  many  oil  fields.  He  had  fought 
with  mother  earth  and  her  mud  and  rock  and  water  to 
drive  his  drill  down  to  where  the  pay  sand  lay.  Inevitably 
he  had  fought  with  other  men,  men  bent  on  the  same  per- 
formance, or  upon  hindering  him  or  acquiring  the  pro- 
ceeds of  his  labours.  And  he  had  fought  with  fate,  the 
whimsical  fate  of  the  oil  fields,  which  inspires,  tantalises, 
enriches  and  ruins. 

A  battering  sort  of  existence.  But  Tarrant  had  not 
become  battered  within.  The  blows  which  fate  dealt  him 
had  left  no  dents.  Instead  they  had  served  only  to  harden 
the  steel  temper  of  his  being.  From  a  grinning  care-free 
rider  of  the  Texas  ranges  he  had,  under  the  tension  of  his 
oil  experiences,  become  toughened  and  saturnine.  Still 
young  enough  and  fresh  enough  to  know  the  wild  romp- 
ings  of  a  cowboy's  heart,  he  had  developed  a  degree  of 
external  hardness  and  control  which  marked  him  for  the 
grim  oil  gambler  that  he  was.  Long  hours  on  the  crown 
block  and  platform,  beneath  the  broiling  Texas  sun,  had 
given  his  face  and  neck  and  hands  a  thick  coating  of 
dull  red,  as  if  to  assist  in  the  protective  shell  of  hardness 
which  he  was  developing;  and  after  the  manner  of  his 
kind,  he  hid  this  hardness  under  a  mask  of  ready  smiles,  of 
drawled  jests  and  stories  and  laughter. 

He  was  sensible  of  the  hardening  process,  however. 
Somewhere  in  him  there  was  bred  a  strain  of  delicacy 


60  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

which  craved  something  finer  than  life  so  far  had  offered 
him.  As  he  struggled  with  the  muck  and  grime  of  well 
drilling  he  dreamed.  The  women  who  followed  the  oil- 
men into  fields  had  no  place  in  these  dreams.  In  fact  it 
was  not  until  the  day  he  saw  the  clean,  blue-eyed  girl  with 
the  fair  hair  step  into  his  field  of  vision  that  he  discovered 
that  his  dreams  might  have  an  embodiment. 

A  hunger  had  awakened  in  him  as  he  looked  at  her, 
and  it  had  grown.  She  was  at  Ranger  Falls,  and  he  was 
determined  to  see  her  again. 

"Young  man,  are  you  an  oilman?" 

Tarrant  started  from  his  dreams  as  a  man  seated  him- 
self in  the  next  chair  and  boomed  the  words  into  his  ear. 
The  newcomer  was  portly  and  middle  aged.  His  apparel 
and  demeanour  proclaimed  him  a  prominent  citizen,  and 
moreover,  one  who  was  entirely  appreciative  of  his  po- 
sition. 

"I  have  not  been  in  Texas  long,"  said  he,  "but  I  flatter 
myself  I  can  recognize  the  different  types  when  I  see 
them.  You,  I  think,  are  an  oilman." 

Tarrant  breathed  hard  before  replying. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  he. 

"In  the  oil  game,  eh !"  beamed  the  newcomer. 

"Yes,  sir." 

"It  is  a  great  game,  young  man." 

Tarrant  offered  no  response,  but  his  demeanour  plainly 
expressed  a  willingness  to  allow  the  conversation  to  end. 

"What  I  want  to  know,"  continued  the  stranger,  "is 
just  how  you  know  there's  oil  down  there?" 

"You  do?"  said  Tarrant,  and  in  the  mildly  rising  inflec- 
tion the  prosperous  one,  had  he  been  observant,  had  he 
been  trained  to  see  or  hear  anything  but  the  most  obvious 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  61 

— in  short,  had  he  been  anything  but  what  he  was — might 
have  caught  a  hint  to  warn  him  that  this  quiet  young  man 
was  not  a  simple  young  man,  but  being  rather  well  im- 
mured in  the  shell  of  his  own  self-importance  the  man  was 
entirely  impervious  to  any  such  impression ;  and  he  moved 
himself  nearer  fraternally. 

"Yes.  For  instance,  you're  going  to  drill  a  new  well. 
Got  your  stock  out,  and  so  on.  Now,  tell  me  this :  how  do 
you  know  there  is  oil  down  there?" 

Tarrant  deliberated,  apparently  allowing  this  forcefully 
delivered  question  to  sink  home. 

"Down  where,  sir  ?"  he  asked  mildly. 

"In  the  ground."  The  important  citizen's  pudgy  fore- 
finger impatiently  indicated  the  floor.  "How  do  you  know 
it  is  there?" 

"We  don't,"  said  Tarrant. 

"You  don't?  Then  how  do  you  know  where  to  drill? 
What  methods  do  you  use  in  locating  your  wells  ?" 

"Well,  different  companies  use  different  methods,"  was 
the  reply. 

"Employ  geologists.    I  know  that,  of  course." 

"Most  do.  That's  the  accepted  way  of  locating  wells. 
Yes,  sir,  that's  the  way."  Once  more  Tarrant's  tone  im- 
plied that  perhaps  this  was  as  good  a  place  as  any  to 
terminate  the  conversation,  but  the  prominent  citizen 
would  have  none  of  it. 

"What  other  methods  are  there?"  he  demanded,  and 
the  die  was  cast. 

"Oh,  there  are  lots  of  other  methods,"  replied  Tarrant 
"Some  folks  still  stick  to  the  old  peach  twig." 

"I've  heard  of  superstitious  people  hunting  water  that 


62  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

way,"  said  the  stranger.  "Water  witches,  they  used  to 
call  them.  Superstitious  nonsense " 

"Yes,"  interposed  the  young  man,  "but  that  was  a  dif- 
ferent kind  of  twig." 

"Diff " 

"Yes,  sir.  You  see,  when  they  first  came  down  here 
and  began  hunting  oil  that  way  they  found  their  water 
twigs  wouldn't  work.  They'd  walk  over  a  lease  and  the 
twig  would  twist,  and  when  they'd  drill  they  wouldn't  hit 
anything  but  water.  So  they  set  out  to  develop  what  they 
call  the  oil  peach — the  Petroleum  Perfection,  to  call  it  by 
its  right  name.  You've  probably  heard  of  it,  sir?" 

"No,  I  can't  say  I  have." 

"They  just  grow  them  for  the  twigs.  Fellow  over  in 
Arkansas  has  got  a  whole  ranch  planted  to  them.  Sends 
his  children  to  college  and  drives  round  in  an  eight-cylin- 
der car,  all  just  on  growing  those  twigs.  He  fertilises 
with  crude  petroleum,  that's  his  secret.  The  trees  are 
black  and  oily,  and  they  run  the  fruit  through  a  presser 
and  get  pretty  fair  low-gravity  crude  out  of  them.  Of 
course,  twigs  grown  that  way  would  naturally  point  to 
oil  instead  of  water  and  you  see — that's  the  idea." 

The  prominent  citizen's  eyes  began  to  bulge.  Men  be- 
gan to  gather  round  who  knew  Tarrant.  They  listened 
solemnly. 

"That's  a  new  one  to  me,"  admitted  the  stranger. 

"Yes,  sir,"  agreed  the  young  man,  with  a  simple  shake 
of  his  head,  "it's  a  great  game." 

"What  are  the  other  methods  you  spoke  of?" 

"Outside  of  geological  location  and  twigs,  you  mean? 
Well,  there's  some  companies  use  the  patent  clock.  You've 
heard  of  that,  I  reckon.  It's  a  patent  a  fellow  down  in  the 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  63 

Corsicana  field  got  out.  Something  like  an  alarm  clock. 
Do  you  know  what  an  anticline  is,  sir?  Well,  it's  a  geo- 
logical term ;  anticlines  and  domes  are  what  you  look  for. 
Well,  this  clock  is  rigged  up  to  find  them.  It's  mighty 
sensitive.  You  take  and  put  it  on  a  thin  copper  plate  so 
as  to  have  a  good  conductor,  and  then  you  drag  it  slow  and 
easy  over  your  lease.  When  you  get  on  an  anticline  she 
lets  go  and  strikes,  like  an  alarm  clock  getting  you  up  in 
the  morning.  Fellow's  wife  left  him,  that  invented  them. 
She  was  a  Kaintucky  girl  and  they  didn't  get  along." 

The  prominent  citizen  now  began  to  comprehend.  That 
last  irrelevant  touch  about  the  inventor's  matrimonial  af- 
fairs had  done  the  work.  Sort  of  a  fool  this  young  fellow 
was.  Strange,  there  was  something  rather  shrewd  about 
his  face,  too. 

"Well,  young  man,"  he  burst  forth  in  kindly  fashion, 
"I  hope  you  don't  utilise  either  of  those  haphazard  meth- 
ods in  locating  your  wells  ?" 

"No,  sir."  The  young  man's  countenance  lighted  up  a 
trifle,  probably  in  gratitude  for  the  older  man's  solicitude. 

"I  should  think  you  would  find  it  a  rather  uncertain 
business  under  those  circumstances,"  persisted  the  stran- 
ger. 

"Yes,  sir,  it  sure  is." 

"Rather  full  of  ups  and  downs,  isn't  it?" 

Tarrant  sat  up. 

"  'Ups  and  downs' !  Now  you  said  it.  That's  what  it 
sure  is.  Ups  and  downs,  and  hard  luck." 

A  certain  look  of  recklessness  showed  on  Tarrant's  face. 
"I  ran  into  a  mess  of  it  once  that  would  have  surprised, 
you,"  he  said. 

The  prominent  citizen  smiled  patronisingly. 


64  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"I  doubt  if  it  would  have  surprised  me,"  said  he,  crisply, 
"considering  what  I've  heard.  What  was  it?" 

"A  big  well  we  brought  in,"  replied  Tarrant.  "A 
gusher.  It  certainly  was  a  real  old-fashioned  spouter." 

"What  was  the  hard  luck?" 

"Well,"  said  Tarrant,  "it  was  one  of  those  things  that 
will  happen  in  the  oil  business.  That  gusher  just  naturally 
caught  me  unawares.  We  had  the  hole  swabbed  out  be- 
cause we  were  in  the  pay  sand  and  we  were  waiting  for 
the  nitroglycerin  to  come  so  we  could  shoot  her,  and  then 
she  blew  herself  in." 

"Ah,  I  see;  you  weren't  prepared  for  it." 

"No,  sir,  we  weren't  prepared  for  it,  as  you  say.  Par- 
ticularly I  wasn't.  I  was  sitting  right  over  the  casing.  A 
fellow  is  apt  to  do  that,  you  know,  after  a  long  hard  job. 
That  gusher  came  in  without  a  whistle  of  gas  to  warn  me, 
and  it  just  naturally  carried  me  up  with  it,  and  the  first 
thing  I  knew  there  I  was  up  eighty  feet  in  the  air  sitting 
on  a  solid  column  of  oil  with  nothing  to  hang  on  to. 

"Gushers  don't  flow  steady,  you  know.  If  it  had  I 
would  have  been  fairly  well  fixed.  They  come  in  by  heads. 
One  minute  I'd  be  up  there  eighty  feet  above  the  casing 
head,  the  next  the  column  would  drop  until  I'd  be  getting 
ready  to  jump;  then,  swoosh !  up  I  would  go  again.  It  got 
mighty  monotonous  after  three  or  four  hours." 

The  stranger  managed  to  gasp :  "Three  or  four  hours  ?" 

"Of  course,  when  you're  shot  up  like  that  there's  noth- 
ing to  do  but  wait  until  they  bring  the  extension  ladder 
round  and  pick  you  off.  Regular  machine,  you  know; 
run  it  up  alongside  of  the  gusher  and  swing  the  ladder 
up  to  you — I  reckon  you've  heard  of  them,  sir?" 

"No,"  gasped  the  other  faintly,  "no !" 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  65 

"Of  course  the  boys  sent  off  a  hurry  call  for  the  ladder, 
but  word  came  back  that  they'd  gone  out  on  three  jobs 
west  of  us  and  couldn't  possibly  figure  to  get  round  to  me 
before  dark. 

"It  sure  was  hard.  The  boys  tried  every  way  to  save 
me.  Once  when  I  was  down  so  low  Elmer  jumped  and 
pretty  near  got  my  foot.  After  that  she  came  stronger,  it 
seemed.  The  boys  did  what  they  figured  best,  I'll  say  that 
for  them." 

The  prominent  citizen  finally  broke  the  awe-stricken 
silence. 

"Wha-what  did  they  do?" 

"Roped  me."  Tarrant  was  looking  straight  ahead,  ap- 
parently seeing  nothing,  his  countenance  a  study  in  unut- 
terable woe. 

"Roped  you?" 

"Yes,  it  was  all  they  could  do.  Elmer  did  it.  He  used 
to  punch  cows  in  the  old  days.  He — he  got  him  a  rope  and 
waited  until  she  was  down  and  then  he — he  roped — me. 
Swung  his  rope  and  dropped  the  noose  over  my  shoulders 
pretty  as  you  please  and  pulled  hard."  1 

"Wha — what  happened  ?" 

Tarrant  leaped  up  with  a  gleeful  howl  and  smote  the 
prominent  citizen  upon  the  back. 

"What  happened?"  he  bellowed  joyously.  "Why,  darn 
it,  old-timer,  what  could  happen?  He  just  naturally 
yanked  me  off  that  column  of  oil  and  broke  my  neck!" 

The  outburst  that  followed  was  too  much  for  the 
pomposity  of  the  victim.  He  bridled  and  purpled  with 
outraged  dignity. 

"That's  one  on  you,  doctor !"  bellowed  an  oil  operator. 
"The  cigars  are  on  Doctor  Dickinson !" 


66  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"Dickinson?"  gasped  Tarrant.    "Doctor  Dickinson?" 

"Who  is  that  young  fool?"  spluttered  Doctor  Dick- 
inson. 

"That's  Spence  Tarrant,"  volunteered  a  bystander. 
"He  operates  up  in  the  Tin  Spout  field." 

"Indeed?"  said  the  doctor.  "Tarrant t  Tarrant!  I 
shall  not  forget  him." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

r  I  ^ARRANT  was  vexed.  He  was  vexed  with  himself, 
with  Doctor  Dickinson  and  with  fate  in  general.  He 
had  not  wished  to  talk  about  oil.  He  had  not  wished  to 
talk  at  all.  The  doctor  had  brought  it  upon  himself.  But 
that  was  beside  the  question.  He  had  made  an  enemy  of 
Doctor  Dickinson.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  anger 
and  hatred,  bred  of  offended  dignity,  that  had  flushed  the 
doctor's  rather  full  countenance  and  hardened  his  eyes. 
And  the  doctor  was  the  girl's  father ! 

"Been  meeting  Doctor  Dickinson,  Spence?"  piped  a  dry 
feminine  voice  at  his  elbow.  "What  an  elegant  man  he 
is,  ain't  he  ?  And  such  a  lovely  daughter  as  he  has  got." 

Tarrant  hid  his  mood  successfully. 

"Good  evening,  Mrs.  Stringer,"  said  he,  bowing  low  to 
the  speaker.  "You  get  younger  and  prettier  every  day." 

Mrs.  Stringer  flashed  the  large  diamonds  upon  her 
fingers.  It  was  only  a  few  years  before  that  Judy  Stringer 
was  wearing  her  life  away  cooking  for  Jake  Stringer 
and  four  hands  on  the  Stringer  Ranch,  but  her  jewels  and 
her  gowns  now  came  from  Fifth  Avenue — "New  York," 
as  she  was  careful  to  add. 

"Yes,"  she  retorted  good-humouredly,  "and  my  hair 
gets  blacker  every  day  I  dye  it,  too." 

"You  don't!"  groaned  Tarrant.  "Don't  tell  me  you 
do." 

"Why  shouldn't  I  admit  it  ?"  was  the  response.  "Ain't 
we  rich?  Of  course  I  dye  my  hair.  And  I  have  my  face 

67 


68  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

massaged  every  day  and  I  don't  eat  enough  to  feed  a  bird. 
Think  I'm  going  to  have  Jake  sit  here  all  day  and  look  at 
young,  slim  girls,  and  then  come  home  to  a  gray-haired, 
fat  old  woman  ?  Not  while  Judy  Stringer  has  a  tiny  piece 
of  brain  left  working." 

"But  you  are  dazzling  to-night,"  continued  Tarrant 
solemnly.  "Don't  tell  me,  Judy,  you  get  yourself  up  like 
this  every  night?" 

"All  lit  up  like  a  plush  horse,  ain't  I,  Spence?"  she 
laughed,  regarding  her  gown  and  jewels  with  complacency. 
"I  may  not  be  any  vamp,  but  I  guess  I  ain't  so  hard  to  look 
at,  if  you  wear  smoked  glasses." 

"I'm  telling  you  straight,  Judy,"  said  the  young  man, 
"the  only  thing  that  keeps  me  from  shooting  Jake  and 
kidnapping  you  is  the  fact  that  Jake  is  my  friend." 

"Now  ain't  that  nice  of  you  to  say  that?"  chuckled  the 
lady.  "Spence,  you  do  tell  the  nicest  lies.  That's  what 
women  like.  Hey!  What  are  you  talking  about  being 
dressed  up?  Man,  you're  dressed  up  fit  to  kill,  your  black 
self!" 

"I  was  figuring  I'd  meet  you,"  persisted  Tarrant. 

"Jake,  come  here  and  listen;  I  want  you  to  get  jealous." 

"It's  too  hot,"  muttered  Jake,  "too  damn  hot." 

"There  you  are,"  said  Mrs.  Stringer  resignedly. 
"What's  the  use?" 

"Doctor  Dickinson  stopping1  here?"  asked  Tarrant 
casually. 

"You  don't  think  there  is  any  other  place  in  town  fit  for 
a  man  like  the  doctor  to  stop  at,  do  you?"  was  the  prompt 
retort. 

"I  reckoned  there  wasn't,"  said  Tarrant.    "The  doctor 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  69 

and  Bodine  and  all  that  crowd,  I  reckon  they  all  stop  here 
too?" 

"Of  course,"  replied  Mrs.  Stringer.  "Mr.  Bodine's 
out  of  town  to-day,  so  the  doctor  feels  sort  of  lost" 

"You  said  the  doctor  had  a  daughter  too?"  came  the 
casual  remark. 

"The  loveliest  girl  I  ever  laid  eyes  on,"  said  Mrs. 
Stringer  fervently.  "I  am  entertaining  her  on  the  roof 
to-night  myself." 

"Adios  then,"  said  Tarrant  quickly;  "don't  let  me  keep 
you." 

He  watched  the  honest  woman  flounce  herself  into  one 
of  the  ornate  elevators.  His  heart  was  beating  high  again. 
He  waited  a  short  time,  then  stepped  into  an  elevator  and 
said  "The  roof." 

The  elevator  shot  upward  and  came  to  a  stop  and 
Tarrant  stepped  out  into  a  glare  of  coloured  lights  and 
jazz. 

"Check  your  hat,  sir.'* 

"Reservation,  sir?" 

The  lights  were  strung  among  the  artificial  vines  which 
wreathed  in  and  out  of  the  trellis-work  above  and  about 
the  place.  The  head  waiter  looked  upon  all  guests  without 
reservations  with  contempt.  The  jazz  orchestra  was 
composed  of  madmen.  In  nothing  did  the  Stringer  Roof 
lack  the  requisites  of  a  successful  roof  garden. 

Tarrant  took  a  table  in  a  corner  and  ordered  luxuri- 
ously. Having  ordered  he  rose,  lighted  a  cigarette  and 
strolled  about  the  promenade.  At  a  vine-covered  pillar 
which  hid  a  dark  corner  he  paused  and  a  thrill  went 
through  him.  A  slender  figure  was  standing  in  the  corner 
peering  through  the  trellis  out  upon  the  somber  mystery  of 


jo  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

a  prairie  country  at  nightfall.  Her  back  was  toward  him, 
and  she  was  wearing  an  evening  gown,  with  a  cloud  of 
mauve  tulle  about  her  shoulders,  but  Tarrant  knew  her, 
and  he  stopped,  his  courage  suddenly  gone. 

"Mrs.  Stringer,"  said  the  girl  softly,  "what  are  those 
funny  little  lights  twinkling  way  off  there  ?" 

"Those  are  derrick  lights,"  said  Tarrant  gently. 

She  turned  and  saw  him. 

"Why,  it's  the  man  who  ordered  the  apples !"  she  cried. 

"My  name  is  Tarrant,  Miss  Dickinson,"  said  he.  "I 
told  you  I  would  see  you  again." 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  remember." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said  gravely,  "I  hoped  you  would 
remember." 

"It  was  that  darling  little  pony,"  she  explained  gayly; 
"I  couldn't  forget  him." 

"The  pony  didn't  say  anything  about  seeing  you  again, 
did  he?" 

"No,"  she  said  unabashed,  "but  I  kept  thinking  of  him. 
That  was  how  I  remembered  what  you  said." 

"I  see,"  he  said  gravely.  "I  hope  you  have  found 
Ranger  Falls  more  civilized  than  Tin  Spout." 

"Well,"  she  said,  "it's  lovely  up  here,  at  least.  And  to 
think  oil  built  this !" 

"Yes,  oil  did  it  all,"  said  Tarrant.  "This  is  the  end  of 
the  oil  game  that  the  public  knows  about — the  money  end, 
the  promotion  end,  the  flash  of  new  oil  wealth.  But  look 
out  there."  He  pointed  out  through  the  trellis-work.  The 
soft  darkness  of  the  Southwestern  night  was  creeping  up 
from  the  earth.  Beyond  the  town  a  constellation  of  twink- 
ling stars  seemed  suspended  close  to  the  ground. 

"Derrick  lights,"  he  repeated. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  71 

He  pointed  out  the  thick  clusters  of  lights  in  the  de- 
veloped fields  and  far  away  the  widely  scattered  lights 
where  the  boldest  of  wildcatters  were  drilling  test  wells. 

"That  is  the  real  oil  game,"  he  said.  "Out  there  where 
geologists  are  giving  the  best  in  their  brains,  and  oper- 
ators the  best  in  their  pockets,  and  roughnecks  the  best 
in  their  bodies,  is  where  the  great  oil  industry  is  made 
possible.  That  is  where  the  production  is  made,  by  the 
real  producers.  They  produce.  And  out  of  their  work 
springs  all  this — and  a  world  of  other  things  besides." 

"I  should  say  they  do,"  came  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Stringer 
over  his  shoulder.  "What  I  say  is,  God  may  have  put  that 
oil  there,  but  it  certainly  raises  the  devil  when  it  gets  out. 
Spence,  I  didn't  know  you  knew  Miss  Dickinson." 

"He  does  not  know  her,"  boomed  a  voice  behind  her. 

Doctor  Dickinson  strode  forward,  led  Marjorie  to  one 
side  and  whispered  savagely  to  her.  She  cast  a  bewildered 
look  at  Tarrant  and,  taking  her  father's  arm,  allowed  her- 
self to  be  led  across  the  floor  and  out  of  sight. 

"What  have  you  done?"  demanded  Mrs.  Stringer, 
alarmed  at  the  obvious  displeasure  of  the  doctor.  And 
then  she  had  occasion  for  alarm  at  the  change  in  Tar- 
rant's  expression,  for  he  strode  past  her  grimly  silent,  his 
mouth  hard,  his  eyes  blazing,  his  expression  nothing  in  the 
world  but  a  threat. 

"I've  always  said,"  she  proclaimed  as  she  seated  herself 
at  the  table  with  Marjorie  and  her  father,  "that  you  never 
can  tell  about  men  in  the  oil  business.  What  in  the  name 
of  Sam  has  Spence  Tarrant  done,  Doctor?" 

Dr.  Dickinson  had  recovered  his  poise,  and  the  spec- 
tacle of  Tarrant's  discomfiture  afforded  him  considerable 
satisfaction. 


72  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"You  know  that  person,  Tarrant,  do  you,  Mrs. 
Stringer  ?"  he  returned. 

"Well,"  said  Judy  Stringer  dryly,  "I  have  a  speaking 
acquaintance  with  him  at  least.  He  used  to  ride  for  Jake 
when  we  were  ranching.  What's  he  done?" 

The  doctor  refused  to  come  to  the  point  so  directly. 

"Then  you  are  quite  familiar  with  the  young  man's 
character — or  lack  of  it,  Mrs.  Stringer?"  said  he  urbanely. 

Mrs.  Stringer  hesitated.  Her  first  impulse  was  to 
flare  up  in  Tarrant's  defense,  but,  as  she  looked  down  at 
her  gown,  which  had  come  from  Fifth  Avenue — New 
York — she  realised  that  her  present  elevated  position  for- 
bade her  the  simple  honesty  and  directness  of  the  ranch 
days  and  imposed  upon  her  a  certain  degree  of  diplomacy. 
The  social  distinctions  were  making  themselves  felt  in 
Ranger  Falls;  Dr.  Dickinson  was  much  sought  after;  and 
as  his  hostess  Mrs.  Stringer  had  incurred  the  usual  social 
obligations. 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  not  much  of  a  judge  of  character,  doc- 
tor," she  perjured  herself. 

"The  young  man  in  question,"  said  Dr.  Dickinson,  "is 
rather  too  wild  for  polite  society.  Yes,  rather  too  wild. 
I  am  amazed  at  his  effrontery  in  speaking  to  Marjie  as 
he  did,  amazed  and  indignant." 

"He's  pretty  amazing,  Spence  is,  coming  right  down 
to  cases,"  agreed  Mrs.  Stringer. 

"I  met  Mr.  Tarrant  at  Tin  Spout,"  said  Marjorie. 

"Who  introduced  you,  Marjie?"  asked  her  father. 

"Nobody!"  she  laughed,  brightening  a  little  as  she  re- 
lated the  tale  of  Tarrant  and  the  bucking  pony. 

"And  he  spoke  to  you?"  persisted  her  father. 

"I  spoke  first,  as  I  told  you,"  said  she.    "I  spoke  to  all 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  73 

of  them;  I  think  I  scolded -them  a  little.  Mr.  Tarrant 
was  one  of  the  crowd." 

She  did  not  relate,  however,  how  he  had  asserted  his 
determination  to  seek  her  out  at  Ranger  Falls.  Dr.  Dick- 
inson studied  her  closely  as  her  countenance  lighted  up 
with  youthful  excitement  as  the  thrilling  scene  came  back 
to  her,  and  his  lips  drew  together  in  the  same  ruthless 
lines  as  Marjorie  had  observed  on  the  faces  of  some  of 
the  men  at  the  station.  It  hurt  her  to  see  that  look  on 
her  father's  face.  He  was — he  had  been — too  fine  a 
father,  too  fine  a  man  to  allow  himself  to  grow  mean  and 
hard  like  that. 

"I  suggest  that  we  change  the  subject,"  said  he  coldly. 
"I  do  not  care  to  go  into  details — rather,  it  is  impossible 
to  go  into  details — but  I  have  recently  come  into  posses- 
sion of  certain  knowledge  concerning  this  man — this 
Tarrant — which  places  him  quite  beyond  the  pale.  Mar- 
jorie, you  must  remember  that  you  are  not  at  home,  but 
in  a  strange  place  where,  although  most  of  the  people  are 
very  fine,  there  are  a  few  who  are  not  only  impossible 
but  dangerous,  viciously  dangerous.  One  must  be  careful 
here.  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Stringer  will  agree  that  I  am 
right?" 

"I  reckon  you  are,  Doc',"  replied  that  worthy  lady 
cautiously. 

"Especially  must  a  girl  like  you  be  careful,  Marjie," 
continued  the  doctor.  "There  are  reckless  characters  here 
— terribly  reckless." 

"But  don't  you  worry,  honey,"  assured  Mrs.  Stringer, 
watching  the  girl's  face.  "You  got  your  pa  to  look  after 
you.  You're  all  right." 

"Yes !"    Marjorie  looked  up  at  her  father  with  a  smile 


74  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

breaking  over  her  countenance.  "Yes."  The  smile  faded 
abruptly.  What  was  in  her  father's  mind?  Why  was 
he  appraising  her  with  that  strange  expression  on  his 
face,  an  expression  she  had  never  seen  there  before? 
Why  did  it  fill  her  with  a  sense  of  helplessness,  of  danger? 
What  did  it  mean? 


CHAPTER  IX 

npARRANT  returned  to  his  table  and  dined  in  apparent 
•*•  content.  Friends  and  acquaintances,  seeing  him  sit- 
ting alone,  tendered  him  invitations  to  join  their  parties, 
but  he  steadfastly  declined.  The  best  of  him  was  stirred 
and  troubled.  The  moment  alone  with  the  girl  had  blessed 
him  and  cursed  him  at  the  same  time.  His  spirit  had 
risen  to  the  call  of  the  vision  she  presented.  Her  beauty 
and  what  lay  in  the  depths  of  her  eyes,  had  given  him  a 
glimpse  of  something  finer  than  he  had  known.  It  had 
whetted  the  hunger  in  his  heart.  He  knew  there  would 
be  no  contentment  for  him  in  his  old  life  after  this.  The 
slip  of  a  girl  had  suddenly  become  more  significant  in 
his  eyes  than  all  the  oil  wells  in  the  world.  He  cursed 
himself  for  a  half-baked  fool.  Why  had  he  been  so  reck- 
less as  to  pull  the  stranger's  leg  without  considering  his 
identity  ?  He  had  made  a  hopelessly  bad  impression  upon 
her  father,  who  obviously  had  passed  his  impression  on  to 
the  girl. 

Tarrant  paid  his  check,  tipped  lavishly  after  the  man- 
ner of  oilmen,  and  descended  to  the  street.  It  was  deep 
night  by  now.  The  vast  darkness  of  the  illimitable  prairies 
had  closed  about  the  town,  surrounding  it  and  rolling  up 
unlighted  streets  like  a  foreboding  wall  which  shut  out 
Ranger  Falls  from  visible  relationship  with  any  other 
portion  of  the  earth.  Main  Street  and  its  lights  alone 
repelled  the  darkness,  a  tiny  scar  of  incandescence  in  a  sea 
of  night.  Here  and  there  tiny  twinkles  gleamed  impo- 

75 


76  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

tently  on  derrick  tops,  where  the  night  towers  were  pound- 
ing away  through  the  dark  hours,  and  high  above  them 
in  the  soft  Southwestern  sky  the  stars  looked  down,  a 
hint  of  the  vastness  of  the  universe,  of  the  insignificance 
of  man  and  his  works. 

"Man,  you  look  glum,"  spoke  a  soft  voice  at  Tarrant's 
side.  "You  must  have  hit  salt  water  up  at  Tin  Spout." 

"Hello,  Arkansaw,"  greeted  Tarrant,  recognising  the 
slight  figure  of  the  young  gambler  who  was  widely  known 
in  the  oil  fields.  "Running  a  game  here?" 

"Trying  to,  Spence,"  replied  the  youngster.  "Things 
have  livened  up  a  little  lately." 

"How  come?" 

"Well,  that  new  Pan-National  Syndicate  crowd  hasn't 
hurt  any,"  was  the  dry  reply. 

Tarrant  became  alert  at  once,  though  not  even  Arkan- 
saw's  sharp  eyes  could  detect  the  change  in  his  mood. 

"They  play  a  little,  do  they?"  he  asked  casually. 

"A  little,"  agreed  the  gambler  with  a  slight  smile. 

"Many  of  them?"  asked  Tarrant. 

"Oh,  so,  so,"  replied  Arkansaw.  "The  head  of  the 
works  is  the  live  wire,  though.  He  certainly  does  play  a 
stiff  game." 

"Who  is  that?"  queried  Tarrant  indifferently. 

"Mr.  Bodine,  the  president,"  said  the  gambler.  "Yes, 
sir,  he  sure  'nough  does  shake  things  up  when  he  sits  in." 

"Does  he  sit  in  often?" 

"Every  night,  Spence.    He's  got  the  habit." 

Tarrant  yawned  elaborately. 

"I'd  like  to  see  one  of  those  plungers  at  work,"  said 
he.  "I  don't  reckon  there's  any  chance,  though.  I  hear 
Bodine  is  out  of  town.'* 


i  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  77 

"Yes,  but  he  is  coming  back  on  the  ten-five,"  said  Ar- 
kansaw,  "and  Old  Man  Swanson  and  Piper  and  a  couple 
others  with  big  wads  are  in,  and  Bodine  told  me  to  look 
for  him  about  ten-fifteen." 

"I  may  drift  over  and  look  on,"  said  Tarrant. 

"Too  bad  about  you  looking  on,"  said  Arkansaw  with 
a  grin.  "Are  you  well  hooked  up?  If  you  aren't  I'll 
stake  you." 

"Thanks,  Arkansaw,"  replied  Tarrant.  "I  reckon  I've 
got  enough  to  look  in." 

Tar  rant's  course  when  he  eventually  moved  to  find 
the  nefarious  establishment  of  young  Arkansaw  led  him 
away  from  the  lights  and  crowds  of  Main  Street  down  a 
dark  side  street  which  was  near  the  railway  station.  A 
new  brick  building  with  a  Greek  restaurant  occupying  the 
first  floor  attracted  his  attention.  He  went  leisurely  round 
to  the  rear  and  entered  a  tiny  hallway.  No  lights  were 
visible  anywhere  about  the  rear  of  the  building.  So  far 
as  external  evidences  were  concerned  the  place  was  de- 
serted. 

Tarrant  put  his  left  hand  on  the  wall  and  carefully 
moved  down  the  hallway  until  in  the  Stygian  darkness 
therein  his  feet  found  the  first  step  of  a  narrow  staircase. 
Still  retaining  touch  of  the  wall  with  his  hand  he  mounted 
slowly,  his  right  hand  extended  before  him.  When  his 
hand  came  in  contact  with  a  door  he  fumbled  until  he 
found  a  dangling  rope  and  pulled.  No  sound  or  effect 
apparently  rewarded  the  effort,  but  Tarrant  stood  still. 
Presently  a  slight  grating  noise  was  heard  and  a  hole  of 
light  the  size  of  a  man's  hand  appeared  in  the  center  of 
the  door.  Tarrant  placed  his  face  close  to  the  hole.  The 


78  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

door  opened  and  he  stepped  in  and  closed  the  door  behind 
him. 

There  were  four  tables  in  the  brilliantly  lighted  room, 
all  devoted  to  the  reprehensible  diversion  of  gambling  with 
cards.  At  one  a  neat,  white-haired  old  reprobate  sat 
quietly  drawing  cards  out  of  a  small  metal  box,  thereby 
holding  the  rapt  attention  of  the  three  patrons  of  the  faro 
layout.  The  next  table  was  devoted  to  the  form  of  enter- 
tainment variously  known  as  vingt  et  un,  twenty-one,  or 
black  jack,  the  latter  being  the  name  under  which  it  was 
played  here.  The  third  table  held  an  engrossed  group  of 
draw-poker  players,  a  house  man  sitting  in  to  care  for  the 
establishment's  interests  in  the  game. 

Arkansaw  presided  personally  over  the  fourth  table. 
From  the  evidence,  which  consisted  of  chips  and  cards, 
it  might  have  been  supposed  that  this  table  was  devoted 
to  the  sinful  and  deleterious  diversion  of  playing  poker. 
It  is  said,  however,  that  there  is  a  degree  of  sanity  and 
reason — some  have  asserted  there  is  science — to  be  en- 
joyed by  the  participants  in  a  game  of  poker,  and  in  the 
nerve-racking  pastime  which  Arkansaw  superintended 
there  was  exactly  such  sanity  and  reason  and  science  as 
might  be  experienced  in  a  duel  with  sandbags  in  the  dark. 
The  game  flourished  here  under  the  descriptive  appellation 
of  Crazy  Sue,  and  it  was  further  described  as  "seven-card 
stud,  table  stakes,  deuces  and  joker  running  wild." 

Seated  at  the  table  were  a  member  of  Congress,  a  mule 
skinner  with  a  yellow  diamond  in  his  red  shirt,  a  New 
York  banker,  a  lawyer,  a  railway  manager,  the  head  of  the 
local  bootlegging  combine,  and  a  white-haired,  red-faced 
oil  millionaire  known  as  Old  Man  Swanson. 

"Tarrant — Tarrant!"    greeted    this    individual    explo- 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  79 

sively.  "Here  you  are — sit  down.  Don't  give  a  demn 
for  expense ;  going1  to  have  a  good  game  here  to-night !" 

"Swanson,"  said  Tarrant  as  he  seated  himself,  "what 
part  of  Sweden  do  you  come  from?" 

"North  Dakota!"  responded  Swanson  promptly. 

"I  wanted  to  know,"  continued  Tarrant,  "so  if  I  ever 
went  foreign  I'd  know  where  not  to  go.  Venerable,  white- 
haired  man  like  you  inviting  promising  young  men  to  join 
you  in  your  descent  into  Avernus!  You  ought  to  be 
ashamed." 

"You  bet !"  agreed  the  millionaire  heartily. 

"Young  man,"  said  the  congressman,  "this  is  a  serious 
offense  against  the  laws  of  the  state.  Will  you  give  us 
your  money  quietly  or  must  we  take  steps  ?" 

"Deal  the  cards,"  said  the  skinner  tersely. 

Men  who  play  Crazy  Sue  with  their  entire  rolls  as  the 
limit  for  a  single  bet  have  no  scattering  interests,  no  idle 
words  after  the  cards  begin  to  fall.  Conversation  ceased. 
Men  bet,  passed,  dropped  out,  or  called  with  a  mono- 
syllabic economy  of  language.  At  first  an  occasional 
chuckle  or  an  oath  was  to  be  heard  from  the  table,  but  as 
the  game  developed  its  tenseness  became  such  as  to  forbid 
even  the  briefest  of  exclamations.  Mouths  grew  pursed 
and  eyes  narrowed.  Each  player's  hat  slipped  gradually 
forward,  shading  his  countenance,  and  Arkansaw  settled 
the  green  eye-shade  of  his  calling  more  closely  over  his 
brows. 

Tarrant  won  from  the  beginning.  The  deuces  seemed 
to  gravitate  to  him,  and  usually  they  were  hidden  so  the 
strength  of  his  hands  was  not  exposed.  A  run  of  luck 
in  that  game  sometimes  meant  a  fortune,  for  the  players 
one  and  all  were  there  solely  for  the  thrill  of  gambling. 


8o  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

Tarrant's  original  roll  doubled  and  trebled.  He  did  not 
pause  to  estimate  his  winnings,  but  with  his  own  roll  left 
them  on  the  table  as  his  stake. 

The  railroad  man,  cleaned  out,  rose  and  left  the  room. 
An  oil  operator,  seeing  the  size  of  the  pile  before  Tarrant, 
took  the  vacant  seat.  The  congressman  lost  the  thousand 
dollars  he  had  brought  and  departed.  An  oilman  took  his 
place.  Swanson,  who  had  lost  more  than  anyone,  cashed 
a  check  and  kept  his  seat.  Tarrant  had  over  eight  thou- 
sand dollars  as  winnings  when  Arkansaw  rose  at  the  flash 
of  a  red  light  to  open  the  door  for  a  tall,  heavy  man  whom 
he  greeted  as  Bodine.  The  bootlegger,  whose  seat  was 
opposite  Tarrant,  promptly  rose  and  cashed  in. 

"All  right,  Sam,"  said  Bodine  crisply  and  took  the 
vacated  chair. 

Tarrant,  in  the  act  of  dealing,  glanced  casually  across 
the  table. 

"Are  you  in?"  said  he,  and  allowed  his  eyes  to  rest  on 
Bodine. 

"I  am,"  said  Bodine. 

Tarrant  dealt  a  card  to  each  player  and  waited.  While 
he  did  so  he  shot  another  glance  at  Bodine.  To  his  sur- 
prise the  big  promoter  was  looking  at  him  steadily,  but 
he  in  no  wise  permitted  this  to  interfere  with  his  scrutiny 
of  the  man.  He  recognised  in  Bodine  a  man  of  great 
force,  of  boldness  and  native  power.  The  promoter  was 
one  of  the  type  which  is  produced  so  often  among  the 
high  executives  of  industry,  large  of  body  and  bone,  round 
or  square  of  head,  surcharged  with  vitality,  and  concealing 
a  primitive  ruthlessness  beneath  an  exterior  of  well- 
groomed  cheerfulness.  Bodine  smiled  fraternally  across 
the  table. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  81 

"You're  Tarrant,  aren't  you  ?"  he  asked. 

Tarrant  nodded. 

"Can  I  see  you  at  my  office  at  ten  to-morrow  morning?" 

Tarrant's  reply  was  another  nod. 

"All  right,"  said  Bodine.    "Who's  betting?" 

The  promoter  seemed  to  dominate  the  game  as  a  matter 
of  course.  Power  and  confidence  and  success  radiated 
from  him.  He  was  surprisingly  young  in  appearance,  his 
heavy  build  alone  belying  the  youthful  pink  of  his  square, 
clean-shaven  face.  Tarrant  watched  his  eyes  and  saw 
them  following  every  move  of  the  dealer's  fingers. 

Tarrant's  run  of  luck  hesitated,  descended  to  a  trickle 
and  gave  out.  Bodine  now  became  the  winner.  He 
played  swiftly  and  heavily,  a  bullying  game  yet  a  careful 
one.  When  he  dealt  his  large  hands  moved  too  swiftly 
for  the  eye  to  follow.  The  pace  began  to  tell  on  the  other 
players.  One  by  one  they  dropped  out  until  only  Tarrant, 
Bodine  and  the  mule  skinner  remained.  Tarrant  was 
playing  cautiously.  He  now  had  some  seven  thousand 
dollars  before  him  and  Bodine's  onslaughts  upon  the  pile 
were  in  vain.  The  skinner,  sensing  the  struggle  that  was 
on,  cashed  in  and  sat  back.  A  group  of  spectators  gath- 
ered in  silence  about  the  table,  and  silently  Bodine  and 
Tarrant  bucked  one  another. 

The  break  came  on  Tarrant's  deal.  Bodine,  growing 
impatient,  tried  a  bluff  and  was  called.  There  were  nearly 
four  thousand  dollars  in  the  pot  when  Tarrant  raked  it  in. 

"Bring  us  a  new  deck,  Arkansaw,"  called  Bodine. 
"We'll  quit  piffling." 

"Got  a  cigar,  anybody  ?"  he  demanded,  rummaging  his 
pockets  with  his  swift  hands  while  the  new  unbroken  deck 
lay  before  him.  "Thanks!" 


82  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

His  large  hands  swept  up  the  cards  and  tossed  them 
across  to  Arkansaw. 

"Break  the  seal  and  shuffle  them,"  he  directed. 

After  Arkansaw  had  complied  Bodine  took  the  cards 
and  passed  them  to  Tarrant  for  the  cut.  He  dealt  the 
first  card.  Tarrant,  raising  one  corner  of  his  card,  saw 
that  he  had  the  joker  and  shook  his  head. 

"Pass,"  said  he. 

Bodine  also  passed,  and  dealt  the  second  cards  face  up. 
Tarrant  received  a  deuce,  Bodine  the  ace  of  spades.  Tar- 
rant bet  a  hundred  dollars.  Bodine  mouthed  his  cigar  a 
moment,  then  pushed  forward  his  entire  stake. 

"It  goes  for  ten  thousand  dollars,"  said  he;  "it's  time 
to  break  up." 

By  all  the  rules  of  the  game  Tarrant  was  constrained 
to  meet  the  bet. 

"There's  only  about  nine  thousand  here,"  he  said,  push- 
ing in  his  stack.  "Show-down  for  that." 

Bodine  nodded  and  dealt,  Tarrant  a  four  and  himself 
a  trey.  He  dealt  on  until  next  to  the  last  card.  On  that 
deal  Tarrant  received  a  nine-spot  and  Bodine  one  of  the 
vital  deuces.  There  was  a  pause.  Men  were  breathing 
hard  about  the  table,  but  the  two  players  were  apparently 
unconcerned. 

"Throw  her  face  up,"  said  Tarrant. 

His  last  card  fell  before  him.  It  was  a  queen.  Bodine's 
card  was  a  deuce. 

"What  have  you  got  hidden?"  demanded  Tarrant  as 
he  turned  up  his  joker. 

"Enough  to  beat  you,"  said  Bodine  and  turned  up  the 
third  deuce  in  his  hand. 

Tarrant  rose. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  83 

"You're  a  miracle  man  sure  enough,"  he  said  signifi- 
cantly, but  Bodine  was  apparently  too  busy  pulling  in  the 
pot  to  notice  Tarrant's  words  or  the  tone  in  which  they 
were  uttered. 

"Ten  o'clock  to-morrow,  Tarrant?"  said  he.  "You 
won't  forget,  will  you?" 

"Not  anything,"  replied  Tarrant  quietly. 

"By  cripes!"  exploded  Old  Man  Swanson  when  the 
door  had  closed  after  the  promoter.  "I  want  to  see  that 
deck." 

"No !"  said  Tarrant,  and  swept  the  cards  into  his  brown 
hands.  "Not  after  he  has  gone.  I  paid  for  them,"  he 
concluded  with  a  smile :  and  tore  the  cards  into  small  bits, 
and  scattered  the  pieces  upon  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  X 

T\  ,TARJORIE  sat  alone  in  her  suite  in  the  Stringer 
•*•*-•-  Hotel.  She  was  very  tired  for  it  was  well  into  the 
morning  part  of  the  night  after  her  arrival.  Her  father 
had  heard  of  Bodine's  return  to  town  and  had  prolonged 
the  evening  on  the  Roof  in  the  hope  that  the  great  man 
would  appear.  Bodine  had  come  straight  from  the  poker 
game;  and  there  had  been  a  dance  and  a  supper,  swiftly 
and  lavishly  organised  by  Bodine  in  her  honor.  And 
Marjorie,  listening  to  the  snatches  of  conversation  be- 
tween dances,  found  her  world  entirely  upset. 

Bodine  was  her  father's  idol  and  master.  She  sensed 
this  at  the  first  meeting,  and  she  resented  with  filial  loyalty 
the  spectacle  of  her  own  father  playing  sycophant  to  any 
man.  At  the  same  time  she  recognised  the  force  and  at- 
traction of  the  promoter's  personality.  There  was  no 
chance  for  her  to  fail  to  recognise  that.  She  felt  it  when 
she  danced  with  him;  the  touch  of  his  fingers  conveyed 
the  magnetism  of  the  man,  to  which  she  with  her  virginal 
youth  was  so  responsive.  She  felt  it  when  his  eyes  were 
upon  her,  and  she  wished  her  party  dress  had  covered  her 
shoulders  which  Bodine  found  so  attractive.  Each  time 
she  rose  to  dance  with  him  a  tiny  sensation  of  dread,  of 
distaste,  moved  within  her,  but  at  the  touch  of  his  hands, 
of  his  arms,  this  was  forgotten.  His  capacity  for  domi- 
nation repelled  her  until  she  was  under  the  spell  of  his 
phsyical  magnetism..  And  then  each  time  she  responded 
to  this  attraction  girlishly,  yielded  to  it,  gave  herself  up 
to  the  clasp  of  his  arms. 

84 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  85 

Yet  now  she  felt  anything  but  thrilled.  She  felt  sapped 
of  her  youthful  buoyancy  and  wanly  wondering  what  was 
responsible.  Hitherto,  when  in  doubt  she  had  always 
turned  to  her  father  in  complete  confidence  for  a  solution 
of  her  problems,  but  his  present  attitude  toward  her  for- 
bade that.  She  bridled  as  she  recalled  the  slavishness 
with  which  he  listened  to  Bodine's  words.  In  Bodine's 
manner  she  sensed  a  tingle  of  contempt  for  the  man  who 
allowed  himself  to  be  so  shamelessly  obsessed  by  the  lure 
of  oil  speculation.  She  marvelled  that  her  father  could 
not  see  it.  He  was  blind,  that  was  the  trouble;  blinded 
by  the  glitter  of  swiftly  made  wealth.  She  longed  to 
throw  her  arms  about  his  neck,  to  sit  on  his  knee,  to  pet 
and  cajole  him,  and  to  draw  comfort  and  confidence  from 
his  presence.  She  needed  him  as  a  father  now  perhaps 
as  she  had  never  needed  him  before;  and  Dr.  Dickinson 
at  that  moment  was  studying  for  the  dozenth  time  the 
closing  figures  from  the  Oil  Exchange  and  regretting  im- 
patiently that  several  hours  intervened  before  the  Ex- 
change opened  again. 

As  they  parted  Mr.  Bodine  casually  had  said  to  her 
father:  "I  met  that  fellow  Tarrant  from  Tin  Spout,  this 
evening,  Doctor." 

"Yes  ?"  suggested  Dr.  Dickinson  eagerly. 

"Quite  a  fellow,  to  judge  by  a  brief  meeting,"  said 
Bodine.  "He's  coming  at  ten  in  the  morning  to  see  me." 

"Then,"  affirmed  Dickinson,  "you  will  have  him  in  the 
Syndicate  before  noon  and  the  field  will  be  clear  for  us 
up  at  Tin  Spout." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  returned  the  promoter  care- 
lessly. "He  looks  like  he  might  have  ideas  of  his  own. 
Of  course  he  can't  be  allowed  to  interfere.  I  will  attend 


86  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

to  that.  The  field  at  Tin  Spout  will  be  clear  for  us  when 
we  want  it." 

Mar j one  rose  wearily  to  prepare  for  retiring.  She 
paused  for  a  moment  before  a  mirror  and  regarded  her- 
self critically.  No ;  the  little  gown  she  wore  was  not  at  all 
too  low  about  the  neck.  She  had  worn  it  to  several  parties 
before  and  had  not  felt  conspicuous.  It  was  when  Bodine 
looked  at  her  that  she  felt  it  was  too  low.  Yet  her  father 
said  he  was  a  great  man  and  that  Tarrant  was  impossible. 
Funny  thing;  she  hadn't  even  thought  of  her  shoulders 
when  Tarrant  looked  at  her.  His  eyes —  She  wondered 
abruptly  how  Mr.  Bodine  would  attend  to  him,  and  she 
was  wondering  when  she  dropped  into  bed  and  fell  asleep. 

Tarrant  approached  the  offices  of  the  Pan-National 
Syndicate  on  the  stroke  of  ten  in  the  morning.  As  be- 
fitted the  character  of  the  business  transacted  therein, 
there  was  little  suggestion  of  crude  oil  about  these  offices. 
They  occupied  the  entire  front  of  the  second  story  of  the 
fourteen-story  Bob  Wilk  Building  on  the  most  important 
business  corner  of  Ranger  Falls.  Bob  Wilk  had  struck 
oil  on  his  ranch  a  year  after  fortune  had  come  to  Jake 
Stringer,  but  when  Jake  proceeded  to  win  fame  by  erect- 
ing the  luxurious  hostelry  which  bore  his  name,  Wilk 
saw  his  twelve  floors  and  raised  him  two  more. 

The  Syndicate  occupied  the  most  expensive  suite  in  the 
building.  It  was  an  impressive  office.  One  had  but  to 
enter  the  outer  door  and  gaze  upon  the  expensive  furniture 
and  fittings  to  realise  that  here  abode  wealth  and  success. 
There  was  nothing  present  to  mar  the  effect  with  a  sug- 
gestion of  the  muck  and  tribulation  incidental  to  oil  pro- 
duction. True  there  was  a  fresco  of  large  panoramic 
photographs  of  oil  wells  about  the  walls.  These  wells  were 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  87 

all  gushers,  the  photographs  being  taken  with  the  oil  plume 
waving  high  above  the  crown  block  of  the  derrick.  To 
supplement  the  photographs  there  was  a  series  of  impres- 
sive geological  maps  which  showed  in  simple,  undebatable 
fashion  that  beneath  every  lease  of  the  Syndicate  there 
lay  a  great  pool  of  oil  awaiting  only  the  drill  bit  to  spout 
fortune  into  the  hands  of  those  sufficiently  intelligent  and 
enterprising  to  purchase  Pan-National  Syndicate  stock. 

Tarrant  stood  in  the  entrance  of  the  suite  and  studied 
the  photographs  and  the  maps  and  legends,  and  wondered. 
The  finale  of  the  poker  game  the  night  before  did  not  sit 
comfortably  in  his  memory.  Wayne  had  let  slip  the  infor- 
mation at  Tin  Spout  that  Bodine  had  been  a  profes- 
sional gambler  before  entering  the  oil  industry.  He  had 
been  unable  to  detect  any  improper  performance  on  the 
part  of  Bodine,  but  he  was  not  satisfied.  He  considered 
the  photographs  of  the  oil  wells  that  hung  before  him. 
The  pictures  were  obviously  intended  to  impress  persons 
unfamiliar  with  oil  production  in  that  field.  On  Tarrant 
they  made  an  impression  of  such  a  nature  that  when  he 
was  shown  into  the  private  office  of  the  President  of  the 
Pan-National  Syndicate  he  was  fully  on  his  guard. 

Bodine  sat  at  the  head  of  a  long  table  in  the  room.  To 
his  right  and  left  sat  two  of  the  best  lawyers  in  the  state. 
The  railway  manager  and  the  congressman  who  had  been 
at  Arkansaw's  the  night  before  also  were  present.  It 
was  truly  a  formidable  array,  as  Bodine  had  planned  it 
should  be.  Tarrant  appraised  each  man  individually,  and 
as  he  sensed  that  each  was  ruled  by  one  idea,  and  that 
idea  emanating  from  Bodine's  mind,  he  turned  to  him. 

"Sit  down,  Tarrant,"  said  the  promoter.  "Have  a 
cigar  ?" 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  said  Tarrant,  "I'll  roll  my  own." 

Bodine  nodded  and  glanced  at  a  sheaf  of  papers  before 
him. 

"You  had  a  talk  with  Mr.  Wayne,  I  believe,  Tarrant?" 
said  he. 

"Wayne  talked  to  me,"  replied  Tarrant. 

"Yes.    I  told  him  to  ask  you  to  run  down  and  see  me." 

"So  he  said." 

Bodine  paused  for  Tarrant  to  continue,  but  the  pause 
was  in  vain. 

"I  suppose  Wayne  said  something  about  the  Pan- 
National  Syndicate  ?"  suggested  the  promoter. 

"Something,"  agreed  Tarrant. 

"Did  he  explain  our  future  activities  in  the  Tin  Spout 
field?" 

"He  raved  considerable,  yes." 

"Did  he  make  a  favourable  impression,  may  I  ask  ?" 

"Who?  Wayne?"  chuckled  Tarrant.  "He  didn't  have 
to;  I  know  him  too  well.  He's  a  good  little  scout  even 
if  he  has  got  a  bad  case  of  oil  fever." 

None  of  them  smiled.  Apparently  this  was  too  serious 
for  humour. 

"We  are  capitalising  for  a  hundred  millions,"  said 
Bodine  after  a  pause. 

"So  WTayne  said." 

"We've  got  the  log  of  every  well  that's  been  drilled 
in  the  Tin  Spout  field,"  went  on  the  promoter.  "I've  had 
my  own  drillers  working  as  roughnecks  on  every  gang 
up  there.  We  know  how  many  barrels  are  produced  by 
each  productive  well,  and  how  many  are  not  producing. 
We  know  just  how  much  expenses  have  increased — labor, 
material,  and  so  on — and  how  production  has  not  in- 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  89 

creased.  We  know  the  Tin  Spout  field  to  the  last  dollar, 
Tarrant." 

"And  still  you  capitalise  at  a  hundred  million?"  said 
Tarrant  slowly. 

Bodine  nodded. 

"Tarrant,"  said  he,  "we  know  the  Tin  Spout  field,  its 
past,  present  and  future." 

"Whoap!  Hold  up!"  Tarrant  held  up  his  hand.  "You 
may  know  the  past  of  that  field,  Bodine,  since  you  have 
had  your  spies  in  there,  and  you  probably  know  its  pres- 
ent; but  when  any  man  talks  of  knowing  the  future  of  a 
big  oil  field  he's  kidding  himself  that  he's  got  hold  of 
secrets  that  the  Lord  keeps  mighty  close  to  Himself." 

"Not  quite,"  said  Bodine.  "We  know  the  future  of 
that  field,  and  I  can  prove  it  to  you." 

"How  come?" 

"The  future  of  the  Tin  Spout  oil  field  is  going  to  be 
just  what  the  Pan-National  Syndicate  decides  it  shall  be," 
came  the  answer.  "No  more,  no  less." 

Tarrant  shook  his  head  slowly. 

"I  have  driven  holes  in  a  lot  of  oil  fields,  Mr.  Bodine," 
said  he,  "but  I  never  got  confident  enough  to  make  a  re- 
mark like  that." 

"Wre  are  confident  enough,"  retorted  Bodine.  "I  will 
explain  later.  Let's  get  down  to  cases,  Tarrant.  You 
have  got  to  admit  that  your  operations  have  scarcely  been 
on  a  big  scale." 

"Not  yet,"  agreed  Tarrant. 

"Your  methods  have  been  good  enough,"  continued 
Bodine,  "but  they  belong  to  a  past  era  in  the  oil  business. 
This  is  a  new  day,  in  this  as  well  as  other  industries. 
[You  have  played  the  oil  game  solely  as  a  game.  As  you 


90  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

follow  it — I  don't  mean  you  alone,  but  all  operators  like 
you — it  is  entirely  a  gamble.  You  may  hit  something  with 
your  drill  bit  and  you  may  not.  Now  that's  not  business, 
Tarrant ;  it  isn't  efficiency.  Good  business  men  don't  make 
a  gamble  of  business  any  more ;  they  organise  along  cer- 
tain efficient  lines.  The  day  of  efficiency  has  arrived,  in 
this  business  as  in  all  others.  The  haphazard,  inefficient 
man  cannot  exist  in  it  any  more  than  he  can  in  any  other 
line.  Two  things  are  inevitably  necessary  to-day — organi- 
sation and  efficiency.  They  do  the  trick,  Tarrant;  they 
convert  the  oil  business  from  a  gamble  to  an  industry." 

"Don't  tell  me  you've  got  a  sure  way  of  telling  where 
to  drill!"  protested  Tarrant.  "I  spent  a  couple  of  years 
studying  geology  and  some  more  years  in  gaining  experi- 
ence and  I  haven't  got  a  sure  system  yet." 

"There  you  are ;  the  very  words :  'a  sure  system/  "  said 
Bodine,  smiting  his  desk.  "A  'sure  system.'  That's  what 
we  have  got,  Tarrant.  Confess,  now,  you  get  pretty  sick 
of  the  game  when  the  luck  runs  against  you?" 

"I'm  human,"  admitted  Tarrant. 

"And  you've  often  wished  to  high  heaven  you  could 
devise  a  system  that  would  guarantee  certain  returns  ?" 

Tarrant  nodded,  and  Bodine  leaned  forward,  patting 
his  desk  earnestly  with  his  big  hand. 

"Tarrant,"  said  he,  "that  is  just  what  the  Pan-National 
Syndicate  offers  every  leaseholder  and  operator  in  the  Tin 
Spout  field,  and  you,  with  your  big  acreage,  are  particu- 
larly situated  to  benefit  from  affiliation  with  us.  We  can 
guarantee  not  only  certain  returns,  but  returns  greatly  in 
excess  of  your  greatest  expectations.  As  an  experienced 
oilman,  knowing  the  Tin  Spout  field  as  you  do,  consid- 
ering the  wells  drilled  and  your  undeveloped  acreage,  you 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  91 

can  estimate  approximately  what  your  expectations  may 
be.  Very  well.  Make  your  estimate  and  double  it.  Turn 
it  in.  We  will  accept  it  and  guarantee  you — mind,  guar- 
antee you — returns  double  your  best  expectation.  Does  it 
sound  like  a  proposition  a  good  business  man  can  refuse 
to  listen  to?" 

Tarrant  looked  out  of  the  window. 

"You  are  not  telling  me  the  secret  of  your  system,  I 
suppose,  Bodine?"  said  he. 

"I  am — as  soon  as  I  know  you  are  in  the  proper  mood 
to  receive  it.'' 

"You  don't  reckon  I  am  in  that  mood  now  ?" 

Bodine  spread  his  hands  with  an  open  gesture. 

"You  are  a  business  man,  so  am  I,"  said  he.  "I  don't 
flatter  myself  that  I  am  able  to  sell  a  proposition  to  a  man 
like  you  at  the  first  meeting.  I  know  you  came  in  here 
prejudiced  against  the  Syndicate.  If  I  am  any  judge  of 
men  you  are  not  the  sort  of  man  to  drop  a  prejudice  easily. 
I  didn't  expect  to  kill  that  prejudice  with  a  few  words. 
I  don't  expect  to  be  able  to  convert  you  to  our  point  of 
view  at  once.  You  will  have  to  be  shown.  All  we  ask 
is  the  opportunity  to  show  you.  I  want  to  know  if  you 
are  willing  to  listen  further  to  our  proposition." 

"If  I  wasn't  willing  to  listen  to  such  a  proposition  I 
ought  to  be  in  a  home  for  feeble-minded,"  said  Tarrant, 
"but  I've  got  to  see  your  log  before  I  go  any  further  than 
that." 

"Just  right,"  said  Bodine  appreciatively,  "just  right. 
You  have  got  to  be  shown  something  real."  He  turned  to 
his  associates. 

"Gentlemen,  Tarrant  is  a  hard  man  to  sell  the  idea  to," 
said  he.  "He  is  the  true  discoverer  of  the  Tin  Spout  field, 


92  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

and  the  largest  producer  and  leaseholder  up  there.  Nat- 
urally we  want  him  with  us ;  and  I  believe  we  are  agreed 
that  we  are  prepared  to  be  extremely  liberal  with  him?" 

The  others  nodded.    Bodine  turned  back  to  Tarrant. 

"Through  the  medium  of  our  organisation  and  our  con- 
nections with  other  organisations  and  banks  throughout 
the  country,"  he  resumed  carefully,  "we  have  accurate 
knowledge  that  never  before  has  there  been  such  an 
amount  of  money  available  for  oil-development  purposes. 
The  money  of  the  country,  in  large  and  small  quantities, 
is  ready  and  eager  to  get  behind  the  oil  industry.  The 
boom  we  have  had  is  only  a  drop  in  the  bucket  to  what  is 
coming.  This  knowledge  is  the  basis  of  our  organisation." 

"Everybody  knows  the  country  is  full  of  sucker  money 
just  now,"  drawled  Tarrant.  "That  isn't  news.  What 
I  want  to  hear  about  is  your  sure  system." 

"All  right/'  said  Bodine,  "here  it  is  :  A  selling  organisa- 
tion that  can  place  $50,000,000  worth  of  oil  stock  in  five 
months." 

"Tin  Spout  stock?" 

"Yes." 

"With  investors  and  scouts  prowling  round  and  seeing 
those  little  shallow  wells  brought  in?" 

"Not  a  single  well  to  be  brought  in,"  flashed  back  Bo- 
dine. "Understand,  Tarrant?  Stop  all  production  in- 
stantly. Seal  the  wells.  Place  guards  all  round.  Then — 
an  advertising  campaign  that  will  make  Tin  Spout  na- 
tionally known  as  the  one  big  promise  in  the  oil  game. 
Not  an  ordinary  haphazard  boom,  Tarrant,  but  a  care- 
fully organised  campaign  that  is  certain  of  success.  No 
campaign  of  the  sort  ever  has  been  started  by  such  an 
organisation  as  we  have  or  with  such  a  sure  guaranty  of 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  93 

success.  We  offer  you  a  sure  thing  for  a  gamble.  Now 
we  are  ready  to  talk  figures." 

Tarrant  took  a  long  time  before  replying. 

"You  said  I  was  the  true  discoverer  of  the  Tin  Spout 
field,"  he  began.  "Well,  I'm  not.  The  true  discoverer 
of  that  field  hasn't  showed  up  yet.  The  Tin  Spout  field 
has  not  been  discovered — yet." 

"You  are  talking  about  that  fairy  story,  the  big  pool?" 
said  Bodine  with  a  smile. 

"That  is  just  it,  the  fairy  story,  the  big  pool,"  admitted 
Tarrant.  "It  has  busted  me  three  times  by  actual  count. 
I  am  still  drilling  for  it.  I  have  got  a  new  wildcat  started. 
I  will  continue  drilling.  That's  what  I  am  up  there  for." 

He  stood  up. 

"Gentlemen,  I  am  not  sitting  in  with  you,"  he  said;  "I 
am  staying  out  simply  as  a  matter  of  cold,  hard-headed 
business.  I  am  not  criticising.  The  country  is  full  of 
fools  waiting  for  somebody  with  oil  stocks  to  take  their 
money,  and  I  have  no  soft  notions  about  it,  though  I  don't 
happen  to  be  interested  that  way  myself.  But  you  talk 
of  making  the  future  of  the  Tin  Spout  oil  field.  Why, 
men,  that  future  was  made  when  the  process  of  geological 
evolution  determined  the  formation  up  there.  Any  geol- 
ogist will  tell  you  that.  You've  got  a  big  organisation  and 
a  fine  system,  and  you  talk  in  millions,  but  I  am  telling 
you  I  think  you  are  a  lot  of  pikers.  I  am  playing  the  Tin 
Spout  formation  to  win  against  your  sure  system.  You 
can  organise;  you  can  put  your  sure  system  of  stock 
selling  into  effect.  But  when  you  talk  of  controlling 
what  this  old  earth  holds — then,  gentlemen,  you  are  defy- 
ing God!" 


CHAPTER  XI 

HP  ARRANT  had  expressed  the  faith  which  was  his 
•*•  inspiration. 

The  mental  equipment  of  the  true  oil  hunter  is  a 
compound  of  geological  knowledge,  hard  experience  and 
faith.  Perhaps  the  latter  is  the  important  ingredient,  for 
it  is  faith  which  drives  the  oil  seeker  on  after  geology  and 
experience  have  told  him  to  halt.  Tarrant's  faith  had 
been  lighted  by  the  Tin  Spout  field.  All  his  geological 
knowledge  and  all  the  practical  oil  wisdom  he  had  gleaned 
from  a  varied  experience  in  many  fields  told  him  that  a 
great  oil  pool  must  exist  here  or  science  and  experience 
be  counted  as  naught.  Other  operators  had  drawn  the 
same  conclusions  about  the  field,  had  drilled,  gone  broke, 
cursed  and  gone  away.  Fortunes  had  been  lost  and  men 
had  been  ruined  in  purse  and  spirit  in  the  search  for  the 
great  pool. 

Tarrant  had  continued  to  drill  after  others  had  lost 
their  nerve  and  quit.  The  small  wells  he  had  brought  in, 
which  had  attracted  other  operators  and  which  had  re- 
sulted in  the  creation  of  Tin  Spout,  represented  to  him 
only  the  working  capital  upon  which  he  drew  for  the 
funds  to  prosecute  his  search  for  the  great  pool.  Each 
hole  he  drilled  might  bring  in  the  golden  aim  of  his  quest; 
but  he  was  hard-bitten  by  experience  and  his  refusal  to 
enthuse  over  the  possibilities  saved  him  from  heart-break- 
ing disappointments. 

He  drilled  enough  test  wells  to  cover  the  proven  area 

94 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  95 

of  the  Tin  Spout  field;  and  then  he  began  to  wildcat,  a 
term  which  has  been  perverted  in  usage  and  meaning.  In 
the  true  wildcatter  of  the  oil  fields  the  old-time  prospector 
of  the  West  has  his  reincarnation.  He  is  the  restless 
visionary,  the  dreamer  of  the  industry.  He  it  is  who 
"spuds  in"  a  day's  march  beyond  the  practical  crowd — 
"out  where  the  wildcats  howl,"  hence  the  term.  Like 
the  old-time  prospector  of  buried  decades,  padding  his 
lonely  way  over  desert  and  mountain  in  the  van  of  the 
mining  men,  so  the  wildcatter  searches  for  his  favourite 
structure  in  regions  where  the  oilmen  have  not  reached. 

Dishonest  promotion  schemes  involving  test  wells  have 
thrown  the  term  into  disrepute,  but  it  is  the  wildcatter, 
with  his  faith  in  himself  and  his  instinct  for  exploration, 
who  finds  the  new  oil  fields,  which,  usually,  others  develop 
and  profit  by. 

Tarrant's  No.  5  wildcat  well  was  one  of  the  hundreds 
of  wildcat  wells  which  are  drilled  each  year  on  faith.  The 
restlessness  of  the  idealist  had  driven  him  out  of  the 
proved  field.  He  had  located  a  structure  that  appealed 
to  him.  It  lay  to  the  south  of  the  Tin  Spout  field,  in  a 
region  covered  with  scrub  oak.  A  portion  of  the  operators 
in  that  field  had  laughed  at  him  when  he  had  spudded  in 
there.  These  were  mainly  the  younger  men.  The  old- 
timers  had  said  nothing,  knowing  from  experience  both 
bitter  and  kind  that  only  one  thing  is  certain  about  oil 
drilling,  and  that  is  its  uncertainty. 

Tarrant  returned  to  Tin  Spout  in  a  grim  frame  of 
mind.  The  picture  of  Bodine  and  his  associates  about  the 
conference  table,  a  group  of  hard-headed  men  desperately 
resolved  upon  high  fortune,  had  made  a  deep  impression 
upon  him.  He  had  appreciated  fully  the  significance  of 


96  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

their  entry  into  the  Tin  Spout  field.  It  marked  the  end 
of  the  happy-go-lucky  operation  that  had  prevailed  there. 
Tense  days  were  coming.  The  Syndicate  was  playing  for 
high  stakes.  The  idle  money  of  the  people  of  the  whole 
country  was  their  prospective  loot;  Tin  Spout  was  to  be 
the  bait.  Their  organisation  was  a  machine.  Once  the 
machinery  had  been  set  in  operation  anything  or  anyone 
threatening  to  interfere  with  its  functioning  would  be 
ruthlessly  crushed. 

He  stopped  his  car  on  an  elevation  on  his  wildcat  lease 
one  evening  upon  leaving  the  well  and  looked  back  at  the 
site.  The  new  timbers  of  the  derrick  rose  above  the  green 
tops  of  the  scrubby  trees,  and  the  sound  of  the  engine  and 
the  machinery  came  faintly  to  his  ears.  All  about  there 
was  the  great  open  country.  In  Tarrant's  mind  passed 
a  review  of  the  history  of  that  section — the  Indians,  the 
white  hunters,  the  free-range  cattlemen  and  a  few  pioneer- 
ing farmers.  These  had  passed  on.  Their  passage  had 
scarcely  scratched  the  landscape,  and  had  left  it  unsettled. 
Oil  had  not  been  discovered  there  then.  The  crude  oil 
was  of  greater  power  than  all  the  forces  previously  at 
work  in  the  section. 

The  well  was  only  an  insignificant  interruption  to  its 
barrenness.  But  what  the  well  stood  for  was  potent  be- 
yond compare.  The  derrick  and  other  derricks  which 
speckled  the  landscape  represented  potential  wealth.  They 
were  potent  enough  to  stir  the  instinct  of  greed  in  the 
souls  of  desperate  men.  Because  of  the  oil  which  lay 
somewhere  beneath  the  barren  topsoil  of  the  region,  men 
came  prowling  thither  avidly.  The  new  well  in  the  un- 
tamed scrub  oak  symbolised  the  true  quest  for  crude  oil. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  97 

Its  power  reached  out,  luring  men  with  its  promise,  en- 
slaving them,  deciding  their  destinies. 

Men  like  Doctor  Dickinson  and  Bodine.  And  not  only 
men.  The  fate  of  women,  too,  was  linked  with  the  prom- 
ise held  in  these  derricks.  Tarrant's  mind  held  a  picture 
of  Marjorie  Dickinson,  and  the  circle  of  oil-maddened 
men  of  which  she,  through  her  father,  had  become 
a  part.  With  the  picture  ran  the  memory  of  how  she  had 
turned  away  from  him  on  the  roof  garden  at  Ranger 
Falls,  and  as  he  drove  on  to  town  his  intense  nature  was 
seething  vehemently  and  his  countenance  was  clouded  and 
grim. 

A  change  had  come  to  Tin  Spout  almost  overnight.  It 
was  not  merely  that  there  were  more  people  in  town. 
Often  in  its  past  history,  after  a  new  well  had  been 
brought  in  there  had  followed  incipient  booms  with  a  con- 
sequent influx  of  visitors — oilmen,  prospective  investors, 
lease  hounds  and  the  riffraff  which  follows  them — remain- 
ing only  long  enough  to  discover  that  the  field  did  not 
promise  richly,  and  moving  away. 

TRere  was  a  new  spirit  present  now.  As  Tarrant  drove 
up  the  muddy  street  and  stopped  at  the  garage  for  gasoline 
he  was  conscious  of  a  heightening  tension.  Strangers  were 
present  in  considerable  numbers.  A  large  tent  was  being 
set  up  near  the  box-car  station;  a  pile  of  cots  lay  beside 
it;  and  on  a  post  pounded  hastily  into  the  ground  was  a 
crude  sign,  "Beds."  A  passenger  train  of  two  coaches 
stood  on  a  siding,  the  cars  empty  and  steam  up  in  the 
locomotive. 

"That's  a  special  from  Ranger  Falls,"  explained  the 
garage  man,  "brought  up  a  crowd  of  Pan-National  Syndi- 
cate people  and  a  lot  of  investors.  Going  to  take  them 


98  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

back  this  evening.  Man  named  Doc  Dickinson  is  in 
charge;  guess  they're  sure  'nough  going  to  make  this 
man's  town  hum.  You  joined  in  yet,  Spence?" 

"No,"  said  Tarrant. 

"Going  to,  though,  ain't  you?" 

"No." 

The  garage  man  showed  resentment. 

"Everybody  else  is,"  said  he.  "Look  at  'em  flocking 
about  Doc  Dickinson  up  there." 

The  syndicate  party  having  completed  its  inspection  of 
the  near-by  field  was  on  its  way  back  to  the  train.  Doctor 
Dickinson  was  in  the  lead  and  at  his  side,  Tarrant  saw 
with  a  leap  of  his  heart,  was  Marjorie.  He  turned  away. 
A  sudden  shout  from  up  the  street  recalled  his  attention. 
A  crowd  of  men  had  come  rushing  out  from  the  pool 
parlor  directly  in  the  path  of  the  visitors.  A  man  came 
running  to  the  garage. 

"Tarrant,"  he  shouted,  "old  Elmer  is  in  a  jam !" 

When  Tarrant  reached  the  scene  he  saw  his  foreman 
calmly  mounting  the  load  of  casing  he  had  come  after, 
while  at  the  head  of  the  four-horse  team  a  burly  oil  worker 
stood  and  cursed  furiously. 

"You  can't  put  it  over  on  me,"  growled  the  roughneck. 
"Get  off  that  load!" 

Elmer  seated  himself  calmly  and  gathered  up  the  reins. 

"You  hear  me?"  snarled  the  man  in  the  street.  "You 
can't  ring  in  phony  dice  on  me.  Get  down !" 

"Science  will  overtake  luck,"  retorted  Elmer  noncha- 
lantly. "Giddap." 

"No,  you  don't !"  The  roughneck  precipitated  himself 
at  the  horses'  heads.  "You  cheap  sure-thing  artist,  you'll 
stay  right  here  till  I  get  my  jack.  Hand  it  over." 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  99 

"Out  of  the  way,  boy,  out  of  the  way,"  said  Elmer 
calmly. 

"Hand  it  over !"  growled  the  other.  "If  you  don't  I'll 
climb  up  there '' 

A  long,  slender  whiplash  sang  through  the  air  and 
snapped  like  a  pistol  shot  against  the  roughneck's  body. 
The  man  instantly  reached  inside  his  shirt  and  drew  forth 
a  large  hunting  knife. 

"You  "  he  roared.  "I'll  come  up  there  and  cut 

your  heart  out!" 

"No  need  to  do  that,  feller;  no  need  at  all." 

The  demeanor  of  the  old  foreman  indicated  that  he  con- 
sidered such  a  dire  threat  as  the  proper  and  inevitable 
sequence  to  the  demonstration  of  his  prowess  with  the 
bull  whip.  He  wasted  no  time  or  energy  upon  any  of 
those  outbursts  of  profane  language  and  threatening  ges- 
tures usually  considered  necessary  as  the  prelude  to  a 
conflict.  Without  uttering  a  word  and  with  an  expertness 
of  motion  which  suggested  a  frequent  participation  in 
such  affairs  he  wound  the  reins  about  his  whipsocket  and 
slid  down  to  the  earth,  drawing  as  he  did  so  a  long  clasp 
knife  which  produced  a  six-inch  blade  at  the  touch  of  a 
spring.  Having  done  this  he  started  toward  his  antag- 
onist in  a  most  businesslike  manner.  This  sudden  ac- 
ceptance nonplussed  the  challenger  so  thoroughly  that  for 
a  moment  he  stood  speechless  and  motionless. 

"No  need  climbing  up,  feller,"  drawled  Elmer,  as  he 
came  on.  "I'll  come  to  you." 

He  was  a  very  wicked-looking  old  skinner  now,  and  the 
roughneck  retreated  slowly. 

"Stop  where  you  are!"  he  cried,  laying  the  knife  flat 


ioo  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

In  his  hand  and  drawing  his  arm  back.  "I'll  throw  it 
through  you." 

The  party  of  visitors  had  retreated  at  the  first  glimpse 
of  the  knife  in  the  roughneck's  hand.  At  the  sight  of 
Elmer  the  retreat  became  a  panic-stricken  flight.  The 
door  of  the  pool  parlor  suddenly  became  jammed  by  a 
crowd  of  appalled  citizens  all  trying  to  find  shelter  at 
once.  On  the  outskirts  of  the  jam  Doctor  Dickinson  was 
to  be  seen,  his  full  face  the  color  of  tallow,  striving  to 
claw  a  way  through  the  pack  of  the  more  nimble-footed. 

"Better  throw  it,  feller,"  said  Elmer,  never  halting  a 
step.  "I'll  be  all  over  you  in  a  minute." 

The  roughneck  swung  his  knife  hand  low  at  his  right 
hip. 

"Stop  him,  Tarrant!"  cried  someone.  "You're  near 
him." 

"So  is  Elmer,"  said  Tarrant. 

"Now,  hombre,"  said  Elmer  as  he  stopped  within  arm's 
length  of  his  opponent,  "be  you  going  to  throw  that  knife 
or  ain't  you?'" 

The  other  made  one  or  two  attempts  to  complete  the 
movement  he  had  begun,  but  the  spirit  and  the  flesh  were 
not  willing.  He  stood  undecided. 

"No,  you  don't!"  cried  Elmer.  "No,  sirree!  You  don't 
get  me  off  my  load  for  nothing !  You're  going  to  throw 
that  knife  or  put  it  up  and  eat  your  mess  of  crow." 

The  roughneck  wilted  completely.  His  knife  soon  was 
closed  and  returned  to  his  pocket.  The  tension  was  over. 

"I  knowed  it,  you  know!"  chortled  Elmer  remounting 
his  load.  "Hard  ones  don't  bellyache  about  losing  a  bet. 
Giddap." 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  101 

The  danger  over,  Doctor  Dickinson  recovered  his  poise 
promptly. 

"The  ruffians!"  he  spluttered.  "Who  are  they?  Their 
names !" 

"The  tall  one  is  Tarrant's  foreman,"  replied  a  by- 
stander. 

"Tarrant  ?  I  thought  so,"  snapped  the  doctor.  "When 
we  institute  our  operations  we  shall  take  steps  to  eliminate 
such  ruffians  from  the  field." 

Marjorie  walked  by  his  side  toward  the  train.  She 
looked  straight  ahead  and  Tarrant  saw  that  her  cheeks 
were  flushed. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  Pan-National  Syndicate  had  chosen  its  time  with 
scientific  accuracy.  It  was  the  psychological  hour 
for  an  oil  boom.  In  a  measure  such  a  phenomenon  was 
an  inevitable  outcome  of  the  time  and  the  national  situa- 
tion. Good  times  had  prevailed  for  a  sufficient  period  to 
make  the  citizenry  of  the  land,  man  for  man,  the  richest 
this  world  has  ever  held.  A  fierce  native  optimism,  bred 
of  this  very  plethoric  condition  and  of  a  na'ive  disinclina- 
tion to  face  life  squarely,  had  resulted  in  a  nation  of  a 
hundred  millions  ripe  for  the  plucking.  Bankers  had  a 
surplus  of  deposits  in  excess  of  their  opportunities  for 
loans;  business  men  had  more  capital  than  the  operation 
of  their  enterprises  required;  farmers  bought  land  at  in- 
sanely high  figures;  workingmen  received  pay  envelopes 
marked  with  figures  such  as  they  never  had  held  before ; 
even  the  millions  of  working  girls  throughout  the  land 
had  money. 

In  Detroit  a  man  inevitably  named  for  the  mission  he 
was  to  accomplish  had  for  years  been  steadily  inculcating 
the  nations'  millions  with  a  new  habit.  Others  might 
seek  to  provide  the  fortunate  few  with  the  means  to  motor 
luxury;  this  master  builder  was  fated  to  make  the  great 
body  of  his  fellow  Americans  take  to  gasoline,  via  the 
internal-combustion  engines.  By  thousands  the  produc- 
tions of  his  genius  rolled  out  upon  an  eagerly  welcoming 
populace,  and  the  year's  product  of  a  gusher  oil  well  was 
swallowed  by  them  in  a  day. 

IO2 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  103 

Synchronously  with  the  acquisition  of  this  habit  by  the 
American  people,  grew  the  development  of  the  oil-burning 
engine  upon  the  seven  seas.  Gradually  but  inevitably  the 
carrier  bottoms  of  the  world  were  turning  from  the  cum- 
bersome coal  and  warping  in  to  piers  where  pipe  heads 
dripped  a  thick,  black  trickle  of  fuel  oil.  The  internal- 
combustion  engine  in  the  motor  vehicle  and  the  oil  burners 
upon  the  ships  had  turned  the  trick.  They  had  changed 
the  world.  A  new  era  was  ushered  in.  Brilliant  geologists 
died  in  Burma  jungles,  desperate  adventurers  froze  in  the 
Arctics;  and  the  great  Tin  Spout  oil  boom  became  pos- 
sible— because  of  it  all.  For  the  engines  must  be  fed. 

Old  mother  earth  must  be  further  harrowed  and  pierced 
to  yield  the  power  necessary  to  help  drive  her  stumbling 
children  forward  on  their  troubled  path.  The  world  had 
to  have  more  oil.  It  was  the  new  magic,  the  liquid  gold. 
The  word  alone  drove  men  mad.  It  drove  them  mad 
enough  to  believe  that  if  they  invested  a  hundred  dollars 
they  would  receive  in  return  ten  or  a  hundred  times  as 
much.  Few  knew  what  an  oil  well  is.  All  knew  what  an 
oil  share  is — or  was.  The  popular  hypnotism  of  the  hour 
was  complete. 

Thus,  in  the  oil  fields,  two  great  industries  sprang  up 
where  but  one  had  flourished  before.  The  serious  but 
thrilling  business  of  drilling  deep  holes  in  the  earth  in 
search  of  crude  petroleum  developed  an  activity  and  in- 
tensity such  as  the  industry  had  not  witnessed  since  the 
long  past  days  of  oil  discovery  in  Pennsylvania.  Where 
formerly  a  scattering  of  derricks  reared  their  heights  over 
a  drab  landscape  now  solid  forests  of  them  cluttered  the 
view.  Where  earth's  treasure  of  oil  had  been  drawn  up 


104  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

in  a  slow  trickle  now  it  was  pumped  in  a  steady  flood. 
The  production  of  oil  boomed. 

But  greatly  as  this  solid  industry  flourished,  its  growth 
was  slow  and  undramatic  compared  to  the  pyrotechnical 
leap  into  full-blown  life  of  the  other  industry  which 
flashed  at  its  side.  The  "oil  boomers"  held  the  stage.  It 
was  their  activities  that  stunned,  dazzled  and  left  agape 
the  public.  Their  stories  filled  the  papers;  their  towns, 
rising  overnight,  appeared  in  word  pictures  in  the  maga- 
zines. The  meteoric  effulgence  of  the  great  boom  pro- 
moters, men  of  vision  and  boldness  incomparable,  caught 
and  held  the  public  attention.  The  public  knew  of  a  great 
industry  only  through  their  lenses  of  magic.  The  public 
accepted  the  improbable  promises  of  these  men.  The 
public,  as  usual,  paid.  The  evidences  of  the  boom  to 
come  began  to  appear  in  Tin  Spout  without  delay. 

One  morning  as  Tarrant  went  to  the  post  office  for  his 
mail  he  saw  a  switch  engine  shunting  a  string  of  freight 
cars  onto  a  siding.  Before  the  wheels  of  the  cars  had 
fairly  stopped  a  crowd  of  workmen  was  swarming  over 
the  train  and  unloading  the  building  material  which  com- 
prised its  freight.  A  gang  of  carpenters  was  hastily  re- 
modeling and  enlarging  a  one-story  building  in  the  middle 
of  the  town's  single  street  and  fitting  its  front  with  the 
first  plate-glass  window  in  Tin  Spout.  Painters  were 
working  upon  the  heels  of  the  carpenters,  painting  the 
building  a  clean  white  in  contrast  to  the  raw,  dust-colored 
lumber  of  the  other  buildings.  Hardwood  flooring  was 
being  laid,  and  under  a  tarpaulin  outside  lay  highly  pol- 
ished desks,  tables,  chairs  and  other  items  of  expensive 
and  showy  office  equipment.  There  was  much  work  re- 
maining to  be  done  on  the  building,  but  a  large  new  sign 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  105 

already  was  hung  across  its  front.  Men  were  standing 
in  the  mud  of  the  street  reading  with  eager  eyes  the  in- 
scription : 

PAN-NATIONAL  SYNDICATE 
GENERAL  OFFICES 

"Know  what  that  means,  Spence?"  demanded  Ross,  a 
local  real-estate  man,  as  Tarrant  came  up. 

"I  can  read,"  replied  Tarrant. 

"It  means  that  the  boom  has  hit  Tin  Spout !"  was  the 
exuberant  retort.  "The  Miracle  Man  is  going  to  get  busy. 
I  hear  you  haven't  taken  any  stock  in  the  Syndicate,  Tar- 
rant?" 

"You  have  heard  right,"  responded  Tarrant. 

"Most  of  us  are  shutting  down  for  the  present,"  sug- 
gested an  oilman. 

"I  noticed  that." 

"Yes ;  it  is  part  of  the  Syndicate's  plan,"  returned  Ross. 
"No  wells  completed  until  sufficient  capital  has  been  as- 
sured for  our  great  drilling  campaign  to  begin.  Outside 
people  won't  invest  in  a  field  when  dry  holes  and  little 
wells  like  your  Number  4  are  the  best  that  we  can  show." 

"No,"  said  Tarrant,  "and  I  think  they  are  right." 

"Of  course  they  are!  That's  the  idea.  Cut  out  the 
dusters  and  dribblers  completely.  That's  why  we  are 
shutting  down.  You  know  people  would  rather  invest 
in  a  big  promise  than  back  a  small  sure  thing.  That's 
human  nature,  isn't  it?" 

"I  suspect  it  is,"  agreed  Tarrant.  "I  know  that's  my 
failing." 

"Then  why  don't  you  come  in  with  us  and  shut  down  ?" 
demanded  Ross. 


io6  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"Who?  Me ?"  Tarrant  prepared  to  go  on.  "Why,  you 
see,  boys,  I  am  in  the  oil  business.  My  game  is  drilling 
wells.  So  long." 

He  realised  that  a  new  attitude  toward  himself  was 
beginning  to  assert  itself  in  the  attitude  of  his  old  friends 
and  neighbors.  He  did  not  blame  them.  He  had  seen 
the  promise  of  sudden  oil  wealth  turn  men  mad  with  greed 
too  often  to  be  surprised  at  it.  Bodine  had  "sold"  his 
syndicate  idea  to  these  people  just  as  later  on  his  organi- 
sation would  sell  the  stock  to  a  multitude  of  investors. 
The  boom  held  a  promise  of  wealth  to  the  people  of  the 
Tin  Spout  field ;  and  they  would  not  have  been  human  had 
they  not  resented  one  of  their  number  appearing  as  an 
obstacle  to  the  fulfillment  of  the  promise. 

Tarrant  realised  fully  in  what  character  he  now  ap- 
peared to  his  neighbors.  He  realised  fully,  also,  that  for 
him  the  die  was  cast.  The  people  did  not  know.  No  one 
would  tell  them.  He  knew,  and  so  did  Bodine.  They 
understood  one  another  grimly,  Bodine  and  Tarrant,  but 
the  townspeople  saw  only  a  stubborn  operator  holding  out 
against  a  great,  beneficent  organisation.  In  his  wildcat 
operations  Tarrant  had  sought  to  place  the  stock  in  the 
hands  of  those  whose  circumstances  justified  their  partici- 
pation in  a  sheer  gamble.  The  confidence  which  had  been 
bred  by  his  success  in  the  field  had,  however,  interfered 
with  such  a  program.  Stock  in  Tarrant  General,  which 
was  issued  against  all  his  properties,  was  mainly  in  the 
hands  of  prosperous  investors,  while  men  and  women 
who  had  not  money  sufficient  for  a  decent  livelihood  had 
invested  in  his  most  desperate  gambles. 

"The  wilder  the  wildcat  the  more  eager  fools  are  to 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  107 

buck  its  claws,"  he  had  decided.  As  a  consequence  hun- 
dreds of  shares  which  he  had  issued  against  the  No.  5 
test  well  were  in  the  hands  of  people  eager  to  do  anything 
which  might  give  their  useless  certificates  some  value. 

Tarrant's  first  knowledge  that  Bodine's  agents  had  been 
working  among  his  stockholders  was  when  a  committee 
of  them  called  upon  him  at  his  office.  Ross,  the  real- 
estate  man,  was  spokesman  and  his  tale  was  briefly  told. 
The  Pan-National  Syndicate  offered  a  way  for  the  stock- 
holders to  realise  upon  their  investments.  If  the  Tarrant 
interests  were  merged  with  the  Syndicate's  the  dead  stock 
would  be  converted,  share  for  share  and  dollar  for  dollar, 
into  the  shares  of  the  Pan-National.  Having  spoken  thus 
Ross  stepped  back,  and  instantly  a  babble  of  arguments 
and  pleas  broke  upon  Tarrant  from  the  other  members 
of  the  committee.  The  young  man  waited  until  they  were 
done. 

"You  gambled,  didn't  you?"  he  said.  "You  were 
warned  to  stay  off  this  stock,  but  you  were  bound  to  burn 
your  fingers.  Now  you  are  squealing.  To  get  back  your 
little  stakes  you  want  me  to  put  all  I  have  got — all  I  expect 
to  get — in  the  hands  of  men  who  are  my  enemies.  Do 
you  think  I  am  playing  for  chicken  feed  ?  Listen !"  He 
rose  at  the  call  of  a  sudden  thought.  "You  say  you  had 
confidence  in  me  or  you  would  not  have  invested.  Have 
you  confidence  in  me  now?" 

"Yes,"  shouted  several. 

"All  right,  we'll  see.  I  will  make  you  this  proposition : 
Turn  in  your  wildcat  stuff  to  me.  I  will  return,  dollar 
for  dollar,  shares  in  Tarrant  General.  That  includes 
every  well  I  drill.  I  won't  make  any  promises,  as  the 


io8  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

Pan-National  has  done.  I  won't  say  any  more.  Now 
let's  see." 

"I  thought  so,"  he  resumed  after  a  pause.  "No  sale. 
All  right.  That's  all." 

"Tarrant,"  said  Ross,  "how  many  more  wells  do  you 
figure  you'll  drill  in  this  field — alone  ?" 

"Enough  to  break  me  hopelessly  or  bring  in  the  big 
pool,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

"We  don't!"  screeched  the  spokesman,  "And  that's  why 
we  want  to  do  business  with  the  Pan-National.  We  don't 
think  you'll  drill  any  more  wells  in  this  field." 

"They'll  squeeze  you  out!" 

"My  offer  stays  open,"  responded  Tarrant  grimly.  "And 
the  door  is  open,  too." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

QPENCE,  you'd  better  come  out  and  take  a  look  at 
^  your  wildcat,"  said  Buck  in  Tarrant's  office  in  Tin 
Spout  a  few  days  later.  "It's  getting  popular.  Me  and 
Elmer  want  some  orders  about  what  to  do." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  Tarrant.  "You're 
not  near  the  sand  yet." 

"I  know  it,"  agreed  Buck.  "The  log  reads  about  the 
same  as  No.  4,  and  if  the  formation  holds  up  we  won't 
be  due  in  the  sand  for  some  time  to  come.  Nevertheless, 
that  well  is  beginning  to  attract  attention.  Folks  come 
out  and  get  nosey.  Ask  me  to  show  'em  the  log,  and  how 
deep  are  we  going/'' 

Tarrant  looked  up. 

"Who?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  Wayne,  and  most  everybody,"  was  the  reply. 
"Come  on  out,  Spence;  I've  got  the  tin  can  running  out- 
side." 

Tarrant  locked  his  desk  and  stepped  out  and  into  the 
battered  mud-covered  car  which  had  brought  Buck  in 
from  the  field. 

"WThat  are  you  calling  this  well,  Spence?"  queried  Buck 
as  the  car  bounced  and  lurched  along  the  deep  ruts  in  the 
prairie  which  served  as  a  road. 

"Number  Five,"  replied  Tarrant. 

"Call  it  Farthest  South,  why  don't  you?"  retorted  Buck, 
rising  to  avoid  the  jar  of  a  bump.  "And  fix  a  couple 
saddles  on  this  tin  can  so  your  high-priced  employes  can 

ride  in  comfort.    Wayne  was  out  to  the  lease  last  evening. 

109 


no  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

Say,  that  boy  is  going  to  the  bad,  you  know  it?  If  he's 
had  a  square  night's  sleep  or  drawn  a  completely  sober 
breath  since  joining  the  Syndicate,  I  don't  know  the  signs 
when  I  see  them;  and  he's  a  nice  little  guy,  too." 

"They  don't  make  them  any  better,"  agreed  Tarrant 
heartily,  "but  that  won't  save  a  man  if  the  oil  fever  has 
got  him.  Wayne  sees  a  fortune  ahead  of  him  and  the 
sight  is  too  much  for  him.  It  is  an  old  story  in  this  game. 
I  am  sorry  about  him  and  wish  I  could  help  him." 

"You  can't,"  said  Buck.  "Say,  what's  that,  a  Pullman 
car  on  rubber  tires  ?" 

The  object  which  had  so  startled  Buck  came  in  sight 
as  they  approached  the  well.  It  was  one  of  the  most  ex- 
pensive and  most  ornate  of  the  many  large  and  expensive 
cars  which  oilmen  were  bringing  into  the  Southwest  at 
this  time.  An  oilman  usually  begins  his  career  with  a 
flivver  as  his  motor  vehicle.  At  the  first  smiling  of  for- 
tune he  rises  to  the  dignity  of  six  cylinders.  If  fortune 
continues  to  smile  the  number  of  cylinders  beneath  his 
car's  hood  is  limited  only  by  the  capacity  of  the  builders. 

Bodine  had  procured  the  largest  and  most  expensive 
car  to  be  had  and  had  provided  it  with  a  special  body  as 
large  and  expensive  and  glittering  as  the  body  builders 
could  execute.  The  car,  on  its  heavy,  specially  built  tires, 
rolled  like  a  red  and  nickel  juggernaut  over  the  trouble- 
some ruts  and  came  to  a  ponderous  stop  near  the  site  of 
the  well. 

Tarrant  was  not  so  much  interested  in  the  car  or  the 
fact  that  it  was  paying  his  property  a  visit  as  he  was  in 
the  passengers  who  reclined  upon  its  rich  upholstery. 
Wayne  and  his  wife  occupied  the  two  chairs  behind  the 
glass  compartment  which  housed  the  chauffeur.  Upon 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  in 

the  rear  seat,  which  was  like  a  club  settee,  sat  Bodine  with 
Marjorie  beside  him. 

"Tarrant,  let's  talk  business,"  said  Bodine,  coming  to 
the  point  with  no  waste  of  words.  "You  have  got  a  new 
territory  here  that  we  can  develop  into  millions.  It  sup- 
plements the  old  Tin  Spout  field  perfectly  for  our  pur- 
poses. For  your  purpose  it  isn't  worth  hauling  a  rig 
onto." 

Tarrant  looked  steadily  at  the  promoter. 

"Bodine,"  said  he,  "the  rig  has  been  hauled  on." 

"I  know,  I  know,"  responded  Bodine.  "You  are  a 
plunger,  Tarrant ;  you're  the  kind  who  find  the  new  fields. 
I  know  all  that.  But  you've  got  hold  of  a  wild  gamble 
here.  The  formation  of  this  field  is  known  as  well  as 
if  it  was  on  the  surface.  You'll  hit  the  sand  here,  Tar- 
rant, that's  certain ;  but  -will  you  find  anything  in  it  ?  With 
your  limited  resources  can  you  drill  enough  holes  to  do 
justice  to  this  new  territory?  I  doubt  it.  It  will  take  a 
million  dollars  to  drill  this  field  as  it  should  be  drilled. 
How  are  you  going  to  get  the  million?  The  answer  is, 
you  can't  get  it.  We  can." 

Tarrant  made  no  reply.  He  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
Marjorie's  eyes.  She  was  looking  at  him  from  beneath 
the  brim  of  her  wide  hat,  she  was  studying  him,  and  there 
was  a  look  of  wonderment  in  her  eyes  which  he  could  not 
fathom. 

"Spence,"  interposed  Wayne  hoarsely,  "you  don't  know 
how  small  the  game  you  are  playing  is  compared  to  Mr. 
Bodine's  plans." 

Tarrant  regarded  him  seriously.  There  was  a  puffiness 
about  Wayne's  eyes  that  had  not  been  there  before  he  met 
Bodine,  and  his  hands  twitched  nervously. 


112  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"All  right,"  said  Tarrant.    "Then  what?" 

"Don't  finish  this  well,"  put  in  Bodine.  "Stop  the  drill 
now — before  it  hits  the  sand." 

"Do  you  want  to  buy  me  out,  Bodine  ?"  asked  Tarrant 

"Yes,"  came  the  instant  reply;  "what  is  your  figure?" 

Tarrant' s  eyes  were  on  the  girl.  His  look  came  back 
to  Bodine  and  he  saw  that  the  promoter  had  caught  the 
straying  glance  and  was  watching  him  and  watching  Mar- 
jorie  like  a  cat. 

"I  won't  sell — to  you — Bodine,"  said  Tarrant. 

"But  look  here,  Spence,"  exclaimed  Wayne,  "you'll 
hold  back  the  development  of  the  whole  field  here.  We've 
got  a  boom  coming  to  Tin  Spout.  We're  going  to  turn  a 
whistling  post  into  another  Ranger  Falls.  Think  of  what 
that  means  ?  You  don't  want  to  be  the  dog  in  the  manger, 
do  you?  You  don't  want  to  delay  the  game,  do  you, 
Spence?  Why,  the  whole  gang  is  wild  about  it — every- 
body in  town.  It  means  millions.  Come  on !  Get  in  the 
game !" 

"I  won't  sell  to  you,  Bodine,"  repeated  Tarrant  quietly. 

Bodine  did  not  reply.  His  suaveness  was  gone  momen- 
tarily. He  shot  a  catlike  glance  at  the  girl  at  his  side,  and 
again  looked  at  Tarrant.  Tarrant  smiled.  Bodine  looked 
at  him  in  silence  for  a  few  seconds ;  then  he,  too,  smiled. 
Turning  to  the  girl  he  said:  "Marjorie,  do  you  mind 
driving  back  to  Ranger  Falls  with  me?" 

"Why,  no,"  she  said  in  surprise. 

"I  must  be  there  this  evening,"  said  Bodine  loudly. 
"George,  turn  round  and  go  back  to  Tin  Spout.  We'll 
drop  Mrs.  Wayne  and  Wayne  there,  Marjorie,  and  you 
and  I  will  drive  to  Ranger  Falls." 

"Some  boat!"  muttered  Buck  admiringly  as  he  watched 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  113 

the  great  car  turn  ponderously  and  roll  out  of  sight.  "But 
that  company  is  too  fast  for  Wayne.  He'll  land  on  the 
rocks  pronto." 

"Boss,  you  sure  put  on  your  war  paint  for  their  benefit/* 
said  Elmer.  "I  don't  reckon  they'll  be  crowding  you  with 
offers  to  buy  from  now  on.  That  big  fellow,  Bodine,  is 
one  stiff  citizen  if  I'm  any  judge.  Reminds  me  something 
of  a  tiger  that's  had  a  close  shave,  massage  and  shampoo." 

"You  needn't  let  any  of  that  crowd  come  near  the  well 
again,"  said  Tarrant  harshly. 

"That's  what  we  wanted  to  hear !"  cried  Buck.  "Invite 
them  to  stay  away,  eh?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  reply.  "No  rough  stuff.  If  it  comes  let 
them  start  it.  I  think  they  will." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

T  TOW  about  the  crew  on  Number  5?"  asked  Tarrant 
*  *  Of  Elmer  soon  after  Bodine's  visit  to  the  well.  "Is 
there  anyone  there  that  we  can't  trust?" 

"  Trust' ?"  repeated  Elmer.    "How  come?" 

"The  Pan-National  Syndicate  is  not  made  up  of  a 
bunch  of  Sunday-school  children,"  said  Tarrant,  "and  I 
don't  exactly  look  for  them  to  come  round  and  pat  me 
on  the  back  for  refusing  to  throw  in  with  them.  They  are 
succeeding  in  their  campaign  to  shut  down  drilling  and 
production  in  this  field.  The  Swede  brothers — the  two 
Larsen  boys — held  out  for  a  better  deal  from  them  and 
kept  on  drilling,  and  last  night  someone  on  the  night  tower 
dropped  a  charge  of  dynamite  down  the  hole  and  ruined 
the  well.  Blew  the  whole  string  of  tools  and  the  casing 
into  such  a  mess  that  they  can't  recover  them.  So  now 
the  Swedes  are  good  boys  and  members  of  the  Syndicate 
in  good  standing. 

"That  leaves  me  the  only  one  drilling  the  field,  and  I 
understand  they  swear  every  time  the  bull  wheel  at  No.  5 
makes  a  revolution.  They  stopped  the  Larsen  boys  and 
their  next  play  will  be  to  stop  me.  They  either  had  one 
of  their  own  men  working  on  the  Swedes'  night  tower  or 
"bribed  one  of  the  men  to  do  the  job  for  them.  If  there 
is  anyone  working  on  No.  5,  Elmer,  that  can't  be  trusted 
to  the  limit  let  me  know  about  him  so  I  can  let  him  go." 

Elmer  carefully  went  over  the  names  of  the  men  em- 
ployed on  the  test  well,  checking  the  record  of  each  so 

114 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  115 

far  as  he  knew  it  and  voiced  the  opinion  that  all  were 
reliable  and  faithful  men  except  one. 

"There's  Ramos,  that  Mexican  kid,  that  Buck  put  on 
as  platform  man  last  week,"  said  he.  "He's  a  good  oil- 
man, but  the  other  boys  won't  play  cards  with  him.  I 
dunno  about  him." 

"Tell  Buck  to  let  him  go,"  ordered  Tarrant.  "Tell  him 
to  make  sure  that  each  tower  has  got  at  least  one  of  our 
old-timers  on  it.  After  dark  nobody  is  to  come  as  near 
as  the  boiler  unless  you  know  him  as  a  friend." 

"Speaking  of  Mexicans,"  said  Elmer,  "that  reminds 
me  that  hard-looking  hombre  with  the  scar  was  pesticating 
round  out  there  yesterday.  I  dunno,  but  I  sure  'nough 
got  a  feeling  I  seen  that  hombre  before.  Goes  by  the  name 
of  Grogan.  I  don't  like  him.  Know  what  his  game  is?" 

"No,  but  he  is  a  Syndicate  man,"  replied  Tarrant.  "In- 
vite him  to  keep  strictly  away  if  he  comes  out  again." 

"Well,  sir,"  chuckled  Elmer,  "that's  funny!  That's 
just  what  I  did.  'Mister,'  I  says,  talking  Spanish  for 
some  reason,  'there  are  nicer  places  for  you  to  stroll.'  'I 
don't  understand  anything  but  English/  says  he.  'The 
hell  you  don't!'  says  I  in  English.  'All  right,  hombre; 
vamoose — pronto!  Sabe?'  So  he  went  away,  taking  it 
mighty  easy;  but  Buck  laughed  at  him  from  the  crown 
block  and  this  Grogan  looked  up  at  him  just  once — I  tell 
you,  Tarrant,  he's  one  maHo  hombre,  that  bird.  If  I  could 
only  remember  where  I  seen  him  before  I  would  feel 
easier." 

"Yes,  it's  a  shame  for  hard  ones  to  come  round  and 
scare  a  timid  fellow  like  you,"  said  Tarrant. 

"Sure  is,"  agreed  Elmer  solemnly.  "I'm  going  to  look 
at  my  map  when  I  get  back  to  camp.  I  got  her  marked 


n6  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

with  a  red  dot  every  place  I  been.  Looks  something  like 
a  man  with  ery-siplus.  I'll  study  her  and  see  if  some  spot 
won't  bring  back  to  me  where  I  seen  this  scar-faced  who 
calls  himself  Grogan." 

Tarrant's  precautions  were  only  such  as  he  had  fre- 
quently taken  before.  He  had  been  through  several  oil- 
field fights  in  his  strenuous  career.  He  had  seen  his  der- 
rick and  storage  tanks  go  up  in  flame ;  once  he  had  a  well 
dynamited  just  as  he  was  to  bring  it  in.  All  that  was 
in  the  game  and  he  played  the  game  to  the  limit.  Having 
thrown  down  the  gage  to  Bodine  he  asked  for,  and  ex- 
pected, no  odds.  He  paid  his  attorney  a  heavy  retainer 
for  first  call  on  his  services.  At  his  orders,  his  titles,  leases 
and  stock  issues  were  searched  for  a  possible  loophole  for 
an  attack  through  the  courts. 

"Not  that  they  are  apt  to  start  anything  legal  just  now, 
Al,"  said  he  to  the  lawyer.  "They  don't  own  the  courts — 
yet ;  but  it  is  a  stiff  game  and  I  am  playing  safe." 

"You  are  suspicious,"  said  the  attorney.  "Have  you 
any  reason  for  it?" 

"Al,  there  are  worse  places  than  a  poker  game  for  sizing 
up  a  man,"  was  Tarrant's  enigmatic  reply. 

Having  taken  his  precautions  he  waited  vigilantly  for 
Bodine's  next  move.  But  apparently  Bodine  was  through 
with  him  for  the  time  being.  The  new  well  was  left 
strictly  alone.  His  pumping  wells  at  Tin  Spout  chugged 
away  with  no  interference,  and  his  storage  tanks,  where 
the  crude  oil  was  held  while  a  new  pipe  line  was  being 
laid,  were  unmolested. 

Tarrant  did  not  relax  his  vigilant  mood.  Range  bred 
as  he  was  he  adopted  the  tactics  of  the  range  when  danger 
threatens.  Nine  Spot,  the  pinto  pony,  was  a  good  night 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  117 

horse,  and  night  after  night  he  carried  his  master  about 
the  field  while  Tarrant  searched  with  the  senses  of  a  born 
hunter  for  signs  of  menace  to  his  property.  He  returned 
late  one  night  from  one  of  these  prowls  to  find  Wayne 
seated  in  a  huddle  on  his  doorstep.  Tarrant  came  up 
softly  and  laid  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"Wayne,  old  boy,  what's  wrong?"  he  said. 

The  young  man  started  up  from  his  doze  in  alarm. 

"Oh !  Oh !  It's  you,  Spence,"  he  stammered  in  relief. 
"I've  been  waiting.  Fell  asleep,  I  guess.  You  haven't 
got  a  drink  on  you,  have  you?" 

"For  heaven's  sake,  old  boy,  cut  it  out !"  implored  Tar- 
rant. "You  are  traveling  too  fast.  It  is  making  a  bum 
out  of  you." 

"A  bum?  Me?"  chuckled  Wayne  scornfully.  "Man, 
I'm  going  to  be  a  millionaire.  You — you'll  go  broke  drill- 
ing dry  holes. 

"What  time  is  it?"  he  broke  off,  starting  up.  "I  said 
I  would  see  you.  I  got  to  get  back.  Spence,  you — we're 
friends.  I've  got  to  tell  you  a  few  things  you  ought  to 
know.  The  boys  have  got  together  on  the  proposition  and 
they  are  not  going  to  take  any  chances  of  having  this 
boom  killed  off.  It  means  too  much ;  it  is  too  big  a  chance. 
Everybody  is  together  on  it,  the  operators,  the  business 
men  in  town,  and  everybody.  You  are  the  only  one  who 
is  holding  out.  I  thought  I — I  would  come  and  tell  you, 
Spence." 

"Go  on,"  commanded  Tarrant.  "You  haven't  come 
here  just  to  tell  me  that  old  news.  What  is  the  rest  of  it?" 

"Well "  stammered  Wayne — "I Spence,  you 

know  you  and  I  are  friends?" 

"Out  with  it!" 


Ii8  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"It — it's  this,  Spencc;  the  people  here  aren't  going  to 
let  one  hold  out  spoil  the  whole  game." 

"Goon!" 

Wayne  nerved  himself  and  blurted : 

"They  won't  let  you  keep  drilling,  Spence,  and,  by 
heaven  they're  right!  Get  in — or  get  smashed!" 

Tarrant  waited  a  long  while  before  responding. 

"Wayne,"  he  said  softly,  "you're  going  to  hell  fast" 

"What?" 

"A  little  while  ago — a  few  weeks,"  continued  Tarrant, 
"and  I  would  liked  to  have  seen  the  man  who  could  use 
you  for  his  dirty  work.  But  they  have  got  you,  boy ;  you 
have  been  running  round  with  them  out  to  the  Country 
Club  and  drinking  more  than  you  are  built  to  hold,  and 
here  you  are,  carrying  Bodine's  messages  just  as  if  you 
weren't  your  own  man  a  few  weeks  ago." 

"It  isn't  Bodine,  I  tell  you,"  cried  Wayne  fretfully. 
"He  wouldn't  send  you  another  word." 

"Running  his  errands !" 

"No!    No!    It  was  Marjorie — Miss  Dickinson." 

Tarrant  sat  down  and  proceeded  to  roll  a  cigarette. 

"What's  the  use  of  bringing  a  girl's  name  into  the  oil 
business,  Wayne?"  he  protested  gently. 

"She  sent  me,"  said  Wayne.  "She  and  her  father  are 
here,  and  she  got  Mrs.  Wayne  to  make  me  come." 

"To  tell  me  what  you  have  said?" 

Wayne  hesitated,  fidgeting  nervously. 

"If  you  must  know,  her  father  told  her  how — how  the 
Syndicate  is  out  to  steam-roller  you  for  holding  out 
against  them,"  he  burst  forth.  "She  didn't  seem  to  think 
it  was  fair.  She's  queer  that  way.  And  so  I  had  to 
come  here  and  try  to  talk  some  sense  into  you." 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  119 

"Why  didn't  she  come  herself  ?"  demanded  Tarrant. 

"What?" 

"If  she  was  interested  enough  to  send  you " 

"Man,  she  couldn't  do  that,"  protested  Wayne.  "Why, 
she  is  one  of  the  Syndicate  crowd.  Her  father — and  then 
Bodine — how  could  she?" 

"What  about  Bodine  and  her?"  asked  Tarrant  evenly. 

"Bodine  gets  what  he  wants,"  was  the  evasive  reply. 

"I  reckon  Doctor  Dickinson  is  mighty  strong  for  Bo- 
dine ?"  suggested  Tarrant  after  a  pause. 

"He  thinks  Bodine  is  a  world  beater." 

"And  she  is  the  doctor's  daughter,  and  she's  just  a 
kid,"  said  Tarrant  softly.  "Wayne,  -why  did  she  bother 
to  send  you?" 

"I've  told  you,  Spence.    It  was " 

"Pity !"  cried  Tarrant  as  the  other  hesitated. 

"Well,  something  like  that." 

"Hell's  bells!"  Tarrant  was  on  his  feet  laughing  at 
the  sky.  "Pity !"  he  repeated  in  the  egoism  of  youth.  "All 
right,  Wayne,  you  can  go.  There's  no  answer." 

"Answer?    Why,  Spence " 

"Don't  mind  me.  So  long,  old  boy,"  said  Tarrant, 
shaking  hands.  "You  sure  have  done  me  a  big  favour." 


CHAPTER  XV 

BUCK  told  me  to  tell  you  he  was  getting  close  to  where 
the  sand  ought  to  be,"  said  the  cook  at  Well  No.  5 
when  he  came  to  town  after  supplies  the  next  day.  "The 
night  tower  sure  shoved  her  down  some  last  night." 

"Has  he  hit  the  cap  rock?"  demanded  Tarrant. 

"I  think  he  has,"  replied  the  cook  to  whom  the  impor- 
tant portion  of  the  oil  industry  was  the  provision  of  meals 
for  the  crew.  "Anyhow  he  said  to  tell  you  he  was  getting 
down  near  the  finish." 

"I'll  be  out  this  afternoon,"  said  Tarrant.  "Tell  Buck 
if  he  gets  a  showing  of  sand  before  I  get  there  to  shut 
down  and  wait  for  me." 

He  was  grimly  pleased.  The  drilling  of  the  wildcat  well 
had  progressed  much  more  rapidly  than  he  had  any  reason 
to  hope ;  and,  what  was  more  important,  much  more  rap- 
idly than  anyone  outside  his  crew,  which  from  the  cook 
to  Elmer  was  loyally  silent,  had  any  reason  to  suspect. 
The  drill  had  gone  to  twelve  hundred  feet,  the  level  at 
which  lay  the  porous  sand  which  contained  the  oil  in  the 
Tin  Spout  field  in  two  weeks  less  than  the  average  of  time 
consumed  in  drilling  in  that  section.  Fortune  had 
favoured  him  in  this,  at  least.  The  Syndicate,  presuming 
that  the  hole  was  far  from  the  depth  at  which  there  was  a 
possibility  of  an  oil  well  being  brought  in,  had  made  no 
effort  to  interfere  with  the  drilling. 

Had  Tarrant  been  less  hard-bitten  by  experience  he 
might  have  been  jubilant  over  the  situation.  That  the 
Syndicate  had  no  intention  of  further  developing  the  Tin 

120 


Tar  rant  of  Tin  Spout  121 

Spout  field  he  was  confident.  Bodine  was  not  an  oilman. 
The  Tin  Spout  field  was  to  him  merely  a  basis  for  an  ad- 
vertising campaign.  The  sudden  cessation  of  all  new  pro- 
duction in  the  field  was  an  inspiration.  With  no  small 
wells  being  brought  in  there  need  be  no  limit  to  the  golden 
promises  which  the  Syndicate  might  make.  The  craze 
for  oil  investments  was  rising  to  the  pitch  of  a  mad 
gamble.  Investors,  whose  notion  of  an  oil  well  was  ob- 
tained solely  from  the  skilful  propaganda  of  the  pro- 
moters, had  eyes  only  for  the  spectacular.  To  the  bulk  of 
them  all  oil  wells  were  "gushers,"  and  a  "gusher"  meant 
millions. 

If  No.  5  came  in  a  producing  well  it  would  deal  the  plans 
of  Bodine  and  his  Syndicate  a  severe  blow.  Oil  in  paying 
quantities  on  the  wildcat  lease  would  mean  a  fortune  for 
Tarrant  and  a  rush  to  that  section.  His  lease  comprised 
a  thousand  acres.  If  he  got  a  well  he  would  throw  the 
tract  open  only  to  real  oil  companies  whose  business  was 
drilling  for  oil  and  not  selling  stock.  There  would  be 
plenty  of  them.  Oil  was  at  a  peak  price  and  steadily 
going  up.  There  would  be  a  rush  of  drilling  rigs  to  the 
new  field.  A  pipe  line  would  come  in. 

He  would  get  a  spur  of  railway  track  there  and  a  new 
oil  town  would  spring  up  as  a  crop  springs  from  the  seed. 
Tin  Spout  would  fade  as  an  advertising  proposition  in  the 
fierce  light  which  would  beat  upon  the  new  field.  Tin 
Spout  stock  would  be  dead  bait  for  investors  and  the 
Syndicate  would  be  forced  to  develop  its  holdings  in  the 
Tin  Spout  field  or,  by  collapsing,  expose  its  scheme. 

The  potentiality  of  Well  No.  5  was  fully  apparent  to 
him,  but  he  experienced  no  thrill  or  elation  as  he  contem- 
plated the  situation.  It  all  was  contingent  upon  No.  5 


122  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

striking  a  pay  sand.  Tarrant  had  drilled  too  many  wildcat 
wells  to  permit  himself  to  become  enthusiastic. 

He  mounted  Nine  Spot  in  the  afternoon  and  jogged 
easily  out  of  town  toward  the  lease.  It  was  a  breathless 
spring  afternoon.  Upon  the  open  prairie  country  lay  a 
mantle  of  silence.  In  the  scrub  oak  surrounding  the  well 
site  the  silence  was  so  complete  as  to  be  oppressive.  Tar- 
rant pulled  the  pinto  up  and  sat  motionless,  listening.  No 
sound  came  to  his  ears.  The  well  was  shut  down. 

"Jog  along,  pony,"  said  he,  shaking  the  reins,  "the 
boys  are  waiting  for  us." 

In  the  open  clearing  about  the  well  the  crew  loafed  at 
its  ease.  A  pair  of  youthful  derrickmen  were  wrestling 
earnestly,  while  their  older  fellows  looked  on,  contemptu- 
ous of  such  a  display  of  energy.  Buck  and  Elmer  sat  on 
the  platform,  and  by  their  attitude  Tarrant  saw  that  they 
were  troubled. 

"Well?"  he  said,  as  he  stepped  up  to  the  casing. 

"Yep,"  said  Elmer  sorrowfully. 

"We  hit  her  right  where  you  figured  she'd  be,"  ex- 
plained Buck.  "The  hell  of  it  is  we  went  right  through 
her  before  we  knew  it." 

"Whatr 

"There  ain't  over  four  feet  of  sand  down  there,"  blurted 
Elmer,  "and  it's  as  dry  as  a  church." 

Tarrant  turned  to  the  slush  pool  where  the  final  bailings 
from  the  hole  had  been  poured  and  after  a  careful  ex- 
amination of  the  muck  he  grew  thoughtful.  Elmer  and 
Buck,  regarding  the  calm  with  which  their  employer  read 
the  inexorable  verdict  of  the  bailing,  looked  at  one  an- 
other with  admiration  in  their  eyes. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  123 

Tarrant  returned  to  the  platform  with  no  change  in  his 
expression. 

"It  is  the  Tin  Spout  sand,  only  here  it  is  dry,"  he  said. 
"What  was  the  depth  when  you  hit  it?" 

"Twelve  hundred  and  thirty." 

"That  is  twenty  feet  deeper  than  the  sand  lies  at  Tin 
Spout." 

"Twenty  feet  exactly,"  agreed  Buck,  "and  the  sand 
peters  out  here." 

"You  say  you  have  gone  through  the  sand,"  asked 
Tarrant. 

"Smack  through  it,  and  we  didn't  even  bring  in  a  trace/' 
was  the  reply.  "Didn't  even  get  salt  water." 

"What  are  you  in  now?" 

"Red  clay  again,"  said  Buck.  "Starting  right  over  in 
the  same  stuff  we  got  on  top." 

Tarrant  pondered  a  moment. 

"How  does  the  log  read,  Buck?"  he  asked. 

"Here  it  is.  Just  add  twenty  feet  to  any  of  your  other 
well  logs  and  you've  got  a  duplicate  of  it." 

Tarrant  cast  his  eye  rapidly  over  the  driller's  record  of 
the  formation  which  the  drill  had  passed  through  on  its 
way  to  the  pay  sand.  There  was  no  need  to  examine  it 
more  closely.  At  a  glance  he  saw  that,  as  Buck  said,  the 
log  indicated  practically  the  same  structures  as  his  drills 
had  found  to  the  north,  at  Tin  Spout. 

"Red  clay,  water,  sand,  red  clay,  sand,  shale,  red  clay, 
.sand  rock,  sand-hard,  shale,  gumbo,  black  shale,  oil  sand." 

Tarrant  knew  the  log  by  heart. 

"Are  you  going  to  try  a  shot?"  asked  Buck. 

His  employer  shook  his  head. 


124  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"No,"  agreed  Buck,  "it  doesn't  look  worth  it,  that's  a 
fact." 

"We  won't  shoot  it,"  said  Tarrant. 

He  was  looking  at  the  casing  head  and  his  eyes  were 
hard. 

A  few  weeks  ago  he  would  have  casually  accepted  the 
verdict  as  final,  and  tried  his  luck  elsewhere.  But  mighty 
things  had  happened  to  him  in  those  weeks  and  he  was  no 
longer  the  happy-go-lucky  oil  gambler.  The  immensity 
of  the  industry  had  always  been  apparent  to  him,  as  had 
the  significance  of  each  successful  well  releasing  a  virgin 
force  into  the  world.  True,  there  was  more  money  to  be 
made  in  the  business  than  ever  before,  but  that  concerned 
him  only  because  it  might  mean  more  power.  And  power 
was  what  he  was  after.  He  must  stand  on  a  plane  with 
Bodine.  This  was  what  stirred  him.  He  looked  at  the 
muck-spattered  casing,  but  what  he  saw  was  Marjorie's 
eyes,  clear  and  frank,  yet  luring  with  the  mysterious  lure 
of  woman;  and  what  he  heard  were  Wayne's  faltering 
words  the  night  before  admitting  that  her  interest  in  Tar- 
rant was  one  of — pity!  The  thought  nerved  him  to  a 
capacity  for  ventures  beyond  his  wildest  wildcatting.  He 
seemed  gifted  with  a  new  and  greater  vision. 

"Shall  we  pull  the  casing,  Spence?"  asked  Buck  in  a 
tone  that  made  the  question  only  a  formality. 

Tarrant  did  not  appear  to  hear.  He  was  like  a  man 
under  the  spell  of  inspiration. 

"Shall  we  pull " 

"No!''  exploded  Tarrant.  "We  are  going  to  keep  on 
drilling.  We  are  going  deeper.  We  are  going  after  the 
big  pool  right  here.  That  pool  wasn't  meant  for  pikers  to 
find.  We've  all  been  pikers  here,  working  up  shallow  pro- 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  125 

duction  and  quitting  when  we  are  down  twelve  hundred 
feet.  That  game  is  played  out.  It's  bust  or  win  big  with 
me  now.  Put  a  guard  on  day  and  night  here,  Buck,  and 
keep  everyone  off.  Don't  let  a  soul  know  what  we're 
doing  and  don't  let  any  one  see  the  log  or  learn  how  deep 
we  are  going.  Start  your  steam  again.  Get  your  string 
of  tools  down  the  hole.  And  start  drilling  and  keep  on 
drilling  until  I  tell  you  to  stop !" 

His  mood  as  he  rode  back  to  Tin  Spout  was  one  oi 
relief.  There  was  a  sense  of  lightened  responsibility.  He 
had  taken  the  plunge,  staking  all  he  had  on  a  desperate 
gamble.  Having  so  done,  he  felt  easier.  The  result  was 
in  the  hands  of  Fate. 

As  he  emerged  from  the  oak  scrub  onto  the  open  prairie 
country  he  came  full  tilt  into  the  opulence  of  a  Southwest- 
ern spring  sunset,  and  he  straightened  up  in  the  saddle  and 
filled  his  lungs  to  the  bottom  with  the  cooling  air.  Nine 
Spot,  jog-trotting  lazily,  protested  against  soiling  his 
dainty  fetlocks  in  the  mud  of  the  road,  and  Tarrant,  with  a 
chuckle,  swung  him  off  from  the  rutted  wheel  tracks  and 
rode  across  country.  The  pinto  rewarded  the  manceuver 
by  falling  into  the  long,  easy  lope  of  the  range  horse.  As 
they  approached  the  town  they  came  back  to  the  road  and 
Nine  Spot,  appreciating  what  was  expected  of  a  range 
horse  entering  town,  broke  into  a  sharp  gallop. 

The  shadows  of  evening  were  stretching  out  over  the 
scene.  Along  the  western  horizon  a  long  streak  of  angry 
red  was  making  a  losing  struggle  against  the  encroaching 
darkness  of  night.  In  Tin  Spout  lights  were  beginning  to 
gleam  in  the  windows.  The  glaring  headlight  of  a  motor 
car  streaked  past  him  and  Tarrant  pulled  the  galloping 
pinto  to  one  side  to  let  it  by.  It  came  with  a  roar  and  a 


126  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

rush.  It  was  Bodine's  car.  Bodine  sat  beside  the  chauf- 
feur and  in  the  rear  seat  were  Doctor  Dickinson  and 
Marjorie. 

Tarrant  watched  the  car  sweep  up  toward  Tin  Spout. 
At  the  outskirts  of  the  town  its  speed  diminished  sharply. 
In  the  rays  of  the  headlight  he  saw  the  cause.  A  four- 
horse  team  hauling  a  truck  loaded  to  the  limit  with  casing 
was  occuping  the  middle  of  the  treacherous  road.  Tar- 
rant laughed  sharply.  He  recognised  the  teamster  and 
the  horses ;  that  load  of  casing  belonged  to  him  and  was 
on  its  way  out  to  Well  No.  5.  He  saw  the  big  car  swing 
out  to  go  round  the  obstacle.  A  light  automobile  could 
have  done  it,  but  Bodine's  car  was  ponderous  even  out  of 
proportion  to  its  extra  size  tires,  and  as  it  swung  from  the 
road  it  ploughed  its  length  in  the  soft  gumbo  topsoil  and 
came  to  a  stop  hub  deep  in  a  hole  from  which  not  even  its 
powerful  motor  could  lift  it. 

Tarrant  brought  the  pinto  to  his  haunches  with  a  jerk 
and  sat  still  and  looked  on.  He  saw  Bodine  and  the 
chauffeur  spring  out  to  examine  the  wheels. 

"I  am  afraid  we  are  fast,"  came  Bodine's  heavy  voice. 
"The  earth  is  like  glue  here." 

Doctor  Dickinson  ponderously  joined  the  two  men. 
Marjorie  prepared  to  follow,  but  Bodine  cried  out  so- 
licitously : 

"No,  no,  Marjorie  1  Stay  where  you  are.  The  mud  is 
impossible." 

She  stood  on  the  broad  running  board  undecided  what 
to  do.  The  pony  had  noiselessly  carried  Tarrant  close 
enough  to  see  her  face.  At  the  sight  of  her  clean  beauty 
a  throb  ran  through  him,  but  he  recalled  Wayne's  explana- 
tion of  her  interest  in  him  and  steeled  himself. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  127 

"Tony,  run  up  to  town  and  send  a  car  back  for  Miss 
Dickinson,"  Bodine  directed  his  chauffeur. 

"Oh,  that  is  too  much  trouble,"  she  protested  laugh- 
ingly, "I  can  walk,  easily." 

"Not  if  I  am  allowed  to  have  the  say!"  laughed  Bodine 
with  a  gleam  of  his  white  teeth. 

The  devil  of  recklessness  of  the  one-time  cowboy  flared 
up  in  Tarrant  as  naturally  as  tinder  to  the  touch  of  a 
match.  Nine  Spot  came  dancing  up  to  the  car  with  short, 
tight-reined  steps.  Tarrant's  face  was  as  blank  as  an 
Indian's,  and  his  blue  eyes  were  boyishly  innocent  of 
guile.  He  held  Nine  Spot  in  hand  with  his  left  hand  while 
his  long  right  arm  hung  idle  at  his  side. 

"Can  I  give  you  any  assistance,  Miss  Dickinson?"  he 
asked. 

"No,  thank  you,"  she  stammered;  and  then  she  saw 
his  face  and  gasped. 

"Bodine!"  called  Tarrant  laughingly.  And  he  swung 
low  from  the  saddle  and  swept  the  girl  off  the  running 
board  and  up  to  his  breast,  and  let  Nine  Spot  go  toward 
town,  all  with  such  suddenness  and  speed  that  the  deed 
was  done  ere  anyone  could  speak  a  word. 

Marjorie's  wild,  instinctive  clutch  as  she  felt  herself 
swept  off  her  feet,  flung  her  arms  about  Tarrant's  neck, 
and  he  laughed  and  kissed  her  full  upon  the  lips.  The  next 
instant  it  required  all  the  strength  of  his  steel-like  arms 
to  prevent  her  from  injury,  for  at  the  touch  of  his  lips  she 
released  her  hold  and  struck  him,  fought  him,  tossed  her- 
self about,  reckless  of  all  but  a  desire  to  escape  from  the 
outrage. 

"Don't  kick!"  laughed  Tarrant.  "The  horse  is  a 
bucker." 


128  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"Let  me  go !"  she  gasped.    "You  beast  I   Let  me  go !" 

"I  won't  till  you  stop  your  kicking,"  said  Tarrant.  "It 
wouldn't  be  safe." 

"Put  me  down !" 

"There,  you've  got  him  dancing  again." 

"I  don't  care,  I  don't  care.    Let  me  go !"  she  panted. 

"You  take  it  easy,"  was  the  rider's  response.  "I  am 
not  going  to  put  you  down  until  you  quiet  down.  Quiet 
down,  do  you  hear?" 

"You  dare  command  me — after — that  ?"  she  gasped. 

"I  do,"  he  said  steadily.  "Have  some  sense.  I  didn't 
aim  to  do  you  any  harm." 

"Oh,  you  beast !" 

"All  right.  All  right.  Let  it  go  at  that.  But  you  have 
got  to  take  it  easy  if  you  want  the  'beast'  to  let  you  go.  It 
won't  pay  you  any  to  struggle.  The  horse  won't  steady 
down  while  you  do.  Besides,  it  won't  do  you  any  good 
because  you  can't  get  away  until  I  am  ready  to  let  you  go. 
I  have  got  something  to  say  to  you." 

The  first  tempest  of  rage  subsided  and  she  grew  still. 
Her  eyes  flashed  fire,  and  her  cheeks  were  white  with  an- 
ger, but  the  arm  about  her  waist  was  like  iron,  and  the 
face  and  eyes  above  her  held  an  expression  that  silenced 
her  with  wonderment. 

"I  aimed  to  do  it — pick  you  off  the  running  board,"  he 
told  her  calmly.  "But  I  did  not  aim  to  kiss  you  till  I  had 
you  up  here.  Then  I  knew  I  had  to  do  it,  and  I  knew  why 
— because  I  had  seen  you  riding  with  Bodine  and  because 
I  love  you,  and  I'm  going  to  make  you  love  me !" 

"I  hate  you — I  loathe  you !'  she  cried. 

"That's  all  right,"  he  said  swiftly.  "I  can  understand 
that.  It  will  take  you  some  time  to  get  over  it,  maybe. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  129 

That's  all  right,  too.  Now  I  am  going  to  land  you  high 
and  dry  on  the  steps  of  the  hotel,  so  I've  got  to  talk  fast. 
I  love  you." 

"You  brute !  You  don't  know  what  the  word  means," 
she  moaned. 

"But  I'm  learning,"  he  protested.  "I  never  took  stock 
in  it  before;  but  now  I  know.  My  life  means  you  from 
now  on ;  and  you're  going  to  learn  to  love  me,  too !" 

He  held  her  to  him  tensely,  his  face  bowed  close  to  her' 3 
and  his  eyes  fixed  with  anguish  and  pleading,  and  then  he 
dropped  her  lightly  upon  the  steps.  Once  again  upon  her 
own  feet  her  anger  and  courage  returned. 

"If  you  ever  dare  speak  to  me  again  may  God  punish 
you  as  you  deserve !"  she  hurled  at  him. 

He  bowed  acquiescently. 

"Fair  enough,"  said  he.    "  'As  I  deserve.' " 


CHAPTER  XVI 

"JV/TARJORIE  continued  to  stand  on  the  steps  of  the 
•*  •*•  hotel,  staring  at  Tarrant's  back  as,  sitting  like  a 
rock  in  the  saddle,  he  rode  on  up  the  street.  He  looked 
back  once,  turning  his  head  slowly  without  checking  tne 
loping  horse,  looking  at  her  steadily  for  an  instant  and 
turning  away,  his  face  set  in  stern  affirmation  of  his  act 
and  words.  She  watched  him  until  sight  of  him  was  lost 
in  the  gathering  darkness.  His  apparent  nonchalance 
added  fuel  to  the  anger  which  seethed  within  her.  Was  it 
possible  that  his  action  was  a  mere  incident  to  him,  that 
it  had  left  him  entirely  unaffected?  For  it  had  affected 
her  mightily.  She  had  been  lost  for  the  moment,  and  she 
had  fought  not  because  of  fear  or  because  she  was  hurt, 
but  because  of  the  amazing  emotion  within  her  which  in- 
clined her  to  yield  to  the  moment's  thrill.  She  was  blazing 
with  fury,  and  most  of  it  was  evoked  by  her  own  inner 
self.  Had  Tarrant  been  within  reach  of  her  voice  she 
would  have  vented  her  wrath  upon  him.  But  Tarrant 
was  gone.  With  his  disappearance  the  fire  seemed  to  go 
out  in  her  and  her  spirit  collapsed  weakly.  She  seemed 
to  wilt  physically ;  her  legs  trembled,  and  she  looked  about 
helplessly. 

Bodine  was  coming  toward  her.  He  had  completely 
outdistanced  her  father  and  was  rushing  through  the  cling- 
ing mud  with  a  burst  of  strength  and  agility  which  would 
not  be  stayed.  His  size  and  dominance  seemed  overpow- 
ering to  her;  it  seemed  as  if  fate,  too  mighty  and  swift 

130 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  131 

for  her  to  resist  or  elude,  was  bearing  down  upon  her,  and 
she  leaned  faintly  against  the  wall  of  the  hotel,  and  Bo- 
dine  came  up  and  took  her  in  his  arms.  She  made  no 
effort  to  resist,  nor  did  she  respond.  Resistance  or  re- 
sponse were  beyond  her  at  the  moment.  She  lay  supine 
in  his  arms,  feeling  his  hands  upon  her  body,  realising 
all  that  was  taking  place  yet  strangely  numbed  and  in- 
different to  it.  The  world  was  upset  for  her.  She  did  not 
move,  while  he  carried  her  into  the  hotel  and  while  his 
grasp  upon  her  body  grew  more  eager.  She  heard  his 
voice,  hoarse  and  tense,  commanding  sharply,  a  scurry  of 
feet  arid  the  opening  of  a  door.  He  bore  her  into  the 
room  and  the  door  slammed,  and  at  the  sound  Bodine's 
embrace  became  convulsive.  He  stood  looking  down  upon 
her  for  a  moment,  and  beneath  his  gaze  she  wearily  closed 
her  eyes. 

"Put  me  down,"  she  murmured. 

Without  replying  he  crushed  her  to  his  breast,  then  laid 
her  gently  upon  the  bed. 

Marjorie  sprang  to  her  feet  as  if  awakened  from  slum- 
ber by  a  sudden  alarm.  She  was  abnormally  alert,  quick- 
ened by  some  sudden  sense  of  danger. 

"Don't  be  alarmed ;  you  are  quite  safe." 

Bodine's  eyes  were  upon  her,  assuring,  caressing,  yet 
devouring  her.  He  was  speaking  words  of  assurance, 
but  the  elemental  significance  of  the  moment  clamoured 
loudly  to  her,  and  words  were  ineffectual.  He  was  be- 
tween her  and  the  door.  Instinctively  she  grasped  this 
as  the  crux  of  the  situation.  She  crouched  as  if  ready  to 
spring  away,  every  fibre  of  her  being  was  tensed  to  the 
breaking  point.  Gradually  his  words  won,  driving  away 


132  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

the  elemental  alarm  which  had  roused  her  and  forcing 
her  to  listen  to  what  he  was  saying. 

"You  mustn't  judge  Tin  Spout  by  one  bad  actor.  He 
isn't  at  all  typical.  Most  of  the  men  here  are  rough,  but 
they  respect  women.  Try  to  forget  about  it.  I  will  make 
sure  it  can't  happen  again." 

Then  her  father's  excited  voice  as  he  came  puffing  into 
the  room:  "I  will  take  care  of  her;  thank  you,  Bodine, 
thank  you." 

Alone  with  her  father,  Marjorie  grew  calm,  and  her 
confidence  in  herself  returned.  She  waited  patiently  while 
his  paternal  indignation  vented  itself  and  until  his  vituper- 
ation of  Tarrant  ceased  for  want  of  breath. 

"I  want  to  go  home,  Daddy,"  said  she,  and  instantly 
she  felt  sorry  she  had  spoken,  felt  sorry  for  her  father 
at  the  look  of  alarm  which  came  into  his  countenance  at 
her  words.  Expressions  of  indignation,  of  craftiness 
and  of  ruthless  determination  followed  one  another  across 
his  disturbed  eyes. 

"Want  to  go  home?"  he  said  in  a  voice  that  sickened 
her.  "Want  to  run  away  and  leave  me  just  when — just 
when  I  need  your  company  the  most !" 

"Daddy!"  she  murmured. 

"After  all  I  have  done  for  you !"  he  went  on.  "Marjie, 
haven't  I  done  all  for  you  a  father  could  ?" 

"Yes,  Daddy." 

"Is  it  asking  too  much  for  you  to  stay  with  me  here — 
when  I  am  trying  to  do  my  best  for  you  ?"  he  demanded. 
"I  am  not  doing  this  for  myself,  Marjie;  I'm  thinking 
of  you  and  your  future.  I  wouldn't  be  doing  my  duty  as 
a  father  if  I  didn't  take  advantage  of  the  opportunities 
offered  here.  Mr.  Bodine  has  taken  me  into  his  complete 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  133 

.confidence.  You've  noticed  how  much  we've  been  together 
recently ;  since  you  came,  in  fact  ?  You  don't  realise  what 
that  means  to  me,  Marjie.  There  is  no  limit — positively 
no  limit.  Bodine  is  the  coming  man  in  the  oil  business. 
I'll  go  up  with  him.  Marjie,  you  can't  think  of  leaving 
me  now.  I  can't " 

"No,  no!"  she  threw  herself  upon  his  breast,  sickened 
at  the  spectacle  of  his  abjectness  and  eager  to  do  anything 
within  her  power  to  stop  it. 

Her  affectionate  surrender  assured  him.  He  was  her 
father ;  she  would  listen  to  him,  obey  him.  He  patted  her 
head  with  a  trace  of  condescension  in  his  manner. 

"My  little  girl  is  upset,"  said  he.  "I  will  leave  you  a 
mild  bromide,  Marjie,  and  prescribe  a  rest  in  bed.  Mr. 
Bodine  was  greatly  distressed,  I  could  see  that.  He  con- 
tinually thinks  of  you.  He'll  see  that  you  won't  be  of- 
fended again." 

The  effect  of  Tarrant's  rash  action  was  most  apparent 
upon  the  young  man  himself.  The  next  day  he  met  Mar- 
jorie  face  to  face  in  the  post-office  and  her  manner  con- 
firmed the  dark  fears  which  he  had  entertained.  She 
could  not  avoid  seeing  him,  therefore  she  made  no  pre- 
tense of  not  doing  so.  Her  face  went  white  and  then  red 
as  she  looked  at  him,  but  it  was  the  look  in  her  eyes,  a  look 
of  accusation  and  at  the  same  time  of  sorrow,  as  if  she 
had  expected  better  things  of  him,  that  stung  and  hurt. 

Tarrant  was  too  young  to  take  such  things  lightly.  The 
impression  which  her  beauty  had  made  upon  him  at  their 
first  meeting  had  grown  deeper  day  by  day.  His  feeling 
toward  her  at  first  represented  only  the  natural  reaction 
of  a  youth  smitten  by  a  young  girl's  beauty.  Had  she  been 
otherwise  than  what  she  was,  or  had  his  perceptions  been 


134  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

less  acute,  this  feeling  might  have  remained  and  the  con- 
sequences of  his  conduct  would  have  been  insignificant. 

But  the  few  seconds  when  he  had  held  her  to  his  breast 
had  been  a  revelation.  His  feeling  had  grown  deeper, 
more  serious  and  finer  than  the  first  surface  impression. 
The  memory  of  her  face  and  the  look  in  her  eyes  as  she 
stood  panting  upon  the  hotel  steps  and  spoke  her  final 
words  haunted  him.  In  that  moment  her  soul  was  bare 
before  him,  and  he  had  a  glimpse  of  the  paradise  he  had 
so  recklessly  thrown  away. 

The  meeting  at  the  post-office  was  a  second  blow  to  the 
young  man.  Again  for  a  flash  she  had  allowed  her  soul 
to  gleam  in  her  eyes.  Tarrant  went  on  down  the  street 
cursed  with  a  haunting  vision  of  what  might  have  been. 
A  sense  of  despair  filled  his  being,  and  then  inevitably  his 
nature  responded  with  a  protest  of  recklessness.  The 
mood  of  youth  desperately  hurt  and  condemning  itself  for 
its  folly  was  upon  him.  Had  he  been  less  vital  it  is  pos- 
sible that  he  would  have  become  weak  and  indifferent 
under  its  influence.  The  intensity  and  the  fire  of  his  na- 
ture precluded  that.  He  grew  grim  and  determined,  and 
the  recklessness  which  was  inherent  in  him  fired  this  mood 
into  the  hardness  of  steel.  He  sought  relief  from  the 
haunting  visions  of  Marjorie  in  the  hectic  poker  games 
which  now  were  a  feature  of  the  nights  at  Tin  Spout.  The 
wilder  the  game  and  the  rougher  the  crowd  the  more  he 
felt  at  ease.  He  saw  himself  as  a  man  who  had  glimpsed 
a  better  and  finer  life  than  he  had  lived  and  who  had  de- 
liberately proved  that  he  had  no  right  to  such  dreams. 
Each  memory  of  Marjorie  was  a  reproach  to  him.  He 
felt  his  place  to  be  among  the  low  and  brutalised  element 
of  which  the  town  now  had  its  full  share. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  135 

Another  man  had  gravitated  to  this  class  as  inevitably 
as  water  seeks  the  lowest  level.  This  was  Grogan,  the 
scar- faced  man,  who  had  been  ordered  off  Tarrant's  lease. 
He  was  to  be  seen  but  seldom  on  the  street  and  then 
scarcely  ever  in  the  daytime.  But  wherever  the  vicious 
element  congregated  at  night  he  was  known.  The  hamlet 
already  held  more  than  its  proportion  of  criminally  in- 
clined parasites.  Grogan  had  usurped  the  position  of 
leader  from  the  day  he  first  appeared.  Some  of  his  asso- 
ciates knew  his  record  but  those  who  were  wise  told  no 
one.  One  such — a  Mexican — was  not  wise,  and  suddenly 
he  was  missing  from  his  haunts.  It  was  understood  that 
he  was  last  seen  one  night  going  for  a  motor  ride  out  on 
the  prairie  with  Grogan,  but  no  one  cared  to  say  so  out 
loud. 

"I  tell  you,  Elmer,  I  don't  savvy  what's  got  into  the 
boss  lately,"  said  Buck  one  morning  on  his  return  from 
town.  "I  go  to  town  to  look  over  the  new  waitress  at 
Chili  Joe's  and  she's  over  forty  and  hard  on  the  eyes,  so  I 
decide  I'll  take  my  evening's  dissipation  caressing  the 
ivories.  I  sneak  round  to  Steve's  Dump  and  shove  my 
way  up  to  the  table  and  who  do  I  see  there  but  Spence, 
shooting  a  hundred  at  a  clip  and  fading  everybody  in  sight. 

"But  that  ain't  what  gets  me.  He  can  gamble  or  leave 
it  alone,  of  course.  It's  the  way  he  looks.  You  know, 
Elmer,  he  don't  belong  in  that  sort  of  company.  Well,  he 
looked  like  he  knew  it,  too,  and  didn't  give  a  damn,  and 
was  ready  to  tell  anybody  to  go  to  hell  who  asked  him 
what  he  was  doing  there.  And  that  ain't  all  either,  by  a 
long  shot.  That  bad  man,  Grogan,  is  one  of  the  crowd 
that  holes  up  in  Steve's.  He  and  the  boss  never  had  no 
use  for  each  other  from  the  first  go-off,  but  the  way  the 


136  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

boss  looks  now  he'll  be  inviting  trouble  if  he  sees  it  coming 
toward  him,  and  if  he  keeps  this  up  he  and  Grogan  will 
bump  sooner  or  later." 

Elmer  grew  serious  as  he  listened  to  the  young  driller's 
recital.  He  had  written  to  his  old  partner  of  Mexican 
days,  Alameda  Slim,  seeking  possible  information  con- 
cerning Grogan,  but  as  yet  he  had  received  no  reply. 

"I  reckon  Spence  can  take  care  of  himself  in  most  kinds 
of  company,"  he  mused.  "Still,  if  this  Grogan  is  what 
my  memory  wants  to  make  him  the  boss  ought  to  know." 

One  night  as  Tarrant  sat  at  a  poker  table  in  Steve's 
Dump  he  heard  a  half -drunken  voice  behind  him  utter 
some  words  that  drew  his  attention. 

"Who?  That  girl  he's  running  round  with?  Don't  tell 
me !  Bodine  ain't  wasting  any  time." 

The  words  brought  Tarrant  up  with  a  jerk.  He  looked 
round  at  the  faces  in  the  room.  Not  one  but  bore  the 
marks  of  brutality  and  debasement.  Worse  than  this,  he 
realised,  was  that  it  was  entirely  natural  to  his  present  en- 
vironment for  such  words  to  be  uttered  there  as  he  had 
just  heard. 

"D'you  know  anything,  Tex?"  queried  a  bystander. 
"Or  are  you  just  talking  with  your  mouth?" 

"I  know  what  I'm  talking  about,  you  betcha!"  blurted 
the  first 'speaker.  "Ain't  I  got  eyes?  I'm  a  wise  guy.  I 
know  'em  when  I  see  'em.  That  old  bird  Dickinson  is  just 
a  blind,  that's  all.  Gives  out  she's  his  daughter.  Daughter 
hell!  She's  about  as  much  his  daughter  as  an  'oilman's 
secretary'  is.  Well,  we  know  what  an  oilman's  secretary 
is,  eh,  fellers?" 

Tarrant  went  cold  and  hot.  He  laid  down  his  cards 
and  pushed  back  from  the  table.  Slowly  he  turned  round 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  137 

till  he  faced  the  loose-mouthed  fool  and  looked  him  in  the 
eyes.  The  man  was  too  drunk  to  understand  the  look, 
and,  reading  it  for  interest  in  his  tale,  he  winked  at 
Tarrant. 

"Driving  her  round  in  his  machine!"  he  chortled. 
"Dickinson's  daughter !  Ho !"  And  he  went  even  beyond 
the  bounds  of  loose  talk  among  rough  men. 

Tarrant's  grip  on  his  throat  choked  the  final  filthy 
words  before  they  were  uttered. 

"You  skunk,"  said  the  oilman  quietly,  "you  tell  them 
you  are  a  liar.  Tell  them  every  word  you  have  said  is  a 
lie.  Tell  them  you  don't  know  a  thing  about  what  you 
have  been  talking." 

He  held  the  man  pinned  against  the  wall  for  a  moment, 
and  took  his  hands  off  him. 

"Go  ahead,"  he  commanded  coldly.  "Tell  them  you 
lie." 

The  man  was  burly  and  young  and  there  was  consider- 
able liquor  in  him,  but  before  the  fury  of  Tarrant's  on- 
slaught and  the  menace  of  his  eyes  he  wilted  at  once. 

"I  was  just  joshing,"  he  stammered  with  a  sickly  grin. 

"You  were  lying.    Tell  them  you  lied." 

"Well,  if  you  call  it  a  lie " 

"You  don't  know  one  thing  about  which  you  spoke." 

"That's  right.  It  was  just  a  josh.  Can't  you  take  a 
joke?" 

"You  didn't  want  it  believed?" 

"Sure  not.    Sure  not." 

"And  if  I  ever  hear  of  your  talking  like  this  again " 

Tarrant  left  the  threat  unfinished  as  the  hulk  of  a  man 
cowered  abjectly.  He  looked  at  him  a  moment,  looked 


138  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

round  the  room.  Then  he  thrust  his  way  roughly  out  of 
the  door. 

"I  wasn't  only  lying,"  said  the  sobered  man,  feeling  his 
throat,  "I  was  a  damn  fool  besides  for  letting  that  guy 
hear  me  shoot  off  my  mouth." 

A  few  days  later  Grogan  came  up  to  Tarrant  on  the 
street. 

"You're  playing  yourself  pretty  strong  round  here,  fel- 
ler," began  the  scarred  man  abruptly. 

Tarrant  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  Then  he  caught  the 
glint  of  excitement  in  Grogan's  dark  eyes,  the  tenseness 
of  the  man's  whole  body,  and  understood.  The  story  of 
his  handling  of  the  drunken  man  had  come  to  Grogan's 
ears  and  he  was  seeking  to  provoke  an  onslaught.  Tar- 
ran't  mind  worked  busily.  Everything  about  Grogan  be- 
spoke the  professional  bad  man.  Resolved  not  to  be  led 
into  a  trap  Tarrant  asked  mildly,  "What's  the  idea?" 

"The  idea  is  you  are  overplaying  yourself,"  replied 
Grogan,  watching  narrowly.  "Unless  maybe  you  figure 
to  put  your  play  through." 

"You  are  still  talking  riddles  to  me,"  said  Tarrant  with 
a  laugh.  "Why  not  explain?" 

A  sneer  came  upon  Grogan's  lips  as  he  understood  that 
Tarrant  was  not  to  be  drawn  into  a  quarrel. 

"And  they  told  me  you  were  hard!"  he  snarled.  "Ha! 
A  guy  like  you  trying  to  buck  Bodine's  game!" 

"I  didn't  know  I  was,"  came  the  passive  reply. 

"Well,  if  you  didn't  you  sure  made  a  bad  play  for  your- 
self with  your  pinto  the  other  evening,"  growled  Grogan. 
"I'd  call  that  bucking  a  game,  my  black  self.  What's  the 
matter,  got  cold  feet  ?  Ain't  you  setting  in  ?" 

"Not  unless  I  am  dragged  in,"  replied  Tarrant. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  139 

"You'll  be  dragged  in  all  right,  unless  you  clear  out,** 
said  Grogan.  "I've  got  your  brand  now,  you  four-flush. 
Don't  play  yourself  so  strong  round  here  any  more  or 
you'll  be  made  to  show-down." 

Grogan  was  becoming  clearer  to  Tarrant,  but  it  re- 
mained for  the  letter  from  Alameda  Slim,  which  finally 
reached  Elmer  to  establish  definitely  the  scarred  man's 
status.  It  read: 

DEL  Rio,  TEXAS. 

Dear  Elmer:  How,  old-timer!  It  sure  was  a  treat  to  see 
your  hen  scratching  and  your  Jno.  Hancock  and  to  hear  from 
you  way  up  North  there  in  the  new  oil  fields.  Is  it  cold  up 
there?  I  suppose  you  have  made  your  stake?  How  is  the 
grub? 

Now  you  ask  me  about  a  man  named  Grogan  which  is  on  the 
prod  against  your  boss,  and  you  think  you  had  seen  him  down 
below  the  river  and  do  I  know  such  a  man?  Well,  Elmer,  you 
called  the  turn  when  you  played  me  to  know  about  him,  and 
he  sure  is  a  stiff  citizen.  Maybe  I  could  tell  you  more  about 
him  if  I  was  up  there,  but  I  am  staying  with  a  friend  just  now, 
and  don't  go  out  much  except  at  night  on  acc't  three  hombres 
which  jumped  me  one  night  and  I  had  to  hurt  one  hombre 
before  he  would  let  go.  It  was  some  time  ago.  Well,  Elmer, 
this  man  Grogan  worked  for  that  man  named  Bodine,  which 
had  a  oil  company  down  near  Tampico,  and  he  certainly  is 
one  muy  malo  hombre.  I  mean  Grogan,  not  Bodine,  which  is 
too  slick  to  do  it  himself,  but  the  other  sure  has  got  fangs. 
You  don't  say  much  about  Bodine ;  I  guess  you  forgot,  eh,  old- 
timer?  Well,  Elmer,  I  don't  mean  that  Bodine  is  not  a  hard 
man  himself;  he  sure  was  a  hard  one  down  there;  he  sure 
cleaned  them  investors  and  got  away  with  a  nice  piece  of 
money  from  the  oil  company  he  had,  some  said  a  couple  hun- 
dred thousand.  They  make  a  hard  pair  to  beat. 

Well,  I  guess  he  will  make  it  good  in  the  oil  business  up 
north  there,  too.  Why  didn't  you  ask  about  Bodine,  too,  El- 
mer? He  sure  is  a  slick  hombre,  like  I  said,  Elmer;  and 
Grogan  sure  is  a  stiff  citizen.  When  I  say  a  man  is  hard  you 
can  believe  it,  eh,  Elmer?  He  is  Bodine's  strong-arm  guy. 
Bodine  does  the  dealing  and  Grogan  discourages  the  kickers. 
Don't  play  with  them,  Elmer,  they  are  bad  boys. 

Well,  I  will  go  out  and  mail  this  when  it  is  dark.  Have  you 
made  a  stake  yet,  old-timer?  I  sure  was  going  good  myself 


140  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

until  this  trouble  I  told  you  about.  It  sure  costs  a  lot,  a  thing 
like  that,  but  he  should  have  let  go.  Well,  Elmer,  if  Bodine 
and  Grogan  is  on  the  prod  against  your  boss  you  tell  him  to 
play  them  close  to  his  chest  and  watch  Grogan's  hands. 

What  are  chances  up  north  there  and  how  is  the  grub  ?  This 
will  blow  over  soon,  I  mean  my  trouble.  Well,  Elmer,  I  sure 
was  glad  to  do  you  a  favor  about  Grogan.  How  are  you? 
Adios,  old-timer.  ALAMEDA  SLIM. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

'  I  ^ARRANT  received  the  news  concerning  Grogan  with 
•*•  something  akin  to  satisfaction.  The  scarred  man's 
relation  to  Bodine  was  fully  established.  He  was  the  pro- 
moter's henchman.  Too  harsh  and  violent  to  be  of  use  in 
the  promotion  end  of  the  Syndicate,  he  yet  was  a  valuable 
man  in  the  organisation.  Bodine  possessed  a  clear  brain 
and  good  powers  of  observation.  These  had  told  him  that 
a  man  may  not  perform  harsh,  ruthless  deeds  against  his 
fellow  men  without  developing  repellent  traits  of  per- 
sonality. A  pleasing,  dominant  personality,  which  would 
attract  and  win  the  confidence  of  anyone,  was  a  prime 
requisite  in  his  field  of  endeavour. 

Such  a  personality  Bodine  possessed  in  the  extreme, 
and  he  guarded  it  and  cultivated  it  and  never  permitted 
himself  the  performance  of  deeds  which  would  reflect  a 
scar  upon  its  perfectly  polished  surface.  Yet  there  were 
times,  his  activities  being  what  they  were,  when  such  acts 
were  necessary  to  his  success.  There  were  occasions  when 
harsh  methods  paid  best.  Furthermore,  a  man  whose 
career  was  what  Bodine's  was  made  enemies,  and  enemies 
in  the  oil  fields  of  the  time  were  not  averse  to  violence. 

So  Grogan  was  a  member  of  the  Syndicate  force.  His 
connection  was  not  open,  nor  were  his  duties  publicly  ex- 
plained, but  Tarrant  had  seen  enough  of  him  to  realise 
that  Alameda  Slim's  letter  told  the  truth.  He  was  satis- 
fied. The  dregs  of  self-reproach  which  he  had  quaffed 
since  he  had  so  recklessly  swung  Marjorie  to  his  saddle 

141 


142  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

had  turned  to  bitterness  in  his  soul.  He  had  resolved  to 
seek  her  out  again  and  apologise  and  attempt  to  explain 
the  ebullition  of  spirit  which  had  prompted  the  act,  but 
he  had  seen  her  once  again  as  she  caught  sight  of  him  on 
the  street,  and  the  resolution  had  died.  She  had  not  looked 
away,  neither  had  she  flushed.  Rather  she  had  gone  pale 
and  cold,  and  every  atom  of  her  being  had  expressed 
silently  her  fateful  words :  "If  you  ever  speak  to  me  again 
may  God  punish  you  as  you  deserve !" 

Tarrant  saw  her  occasionally  as  one  of  a  party  con- 
sisting of  herself  and  father,  Mrs.  Wayne  and  Wayne 
and  Bodine  in  the  latter's  car.  He  heard  tales  of  dinner 
parties  for  the  five  on  the  Stringer  Roof  Garden  at  Ranger 
Falls,  and  he  strove  in  his  bitterness  to  conjure  up  dark 
thoughts,  sought  to  nourish  the  skepticism  of  his  kind 
concerning  women.  But  each  time  the  picture  of  her,  a 
clean,  fine  spirit,  calling  to  what  was  clean  and  fine  in  him, 
rose  out  of  the  murk  of  his  mood,  and  he  was  glad  he  was 
wrong — glad  and  bitter.  The  barrier  was  up  between 
them.  Like  a  fool  he  had  played  into  Bodine's  hands  by 
permitting  the  wild  boy  in  him  to  alienate  her  by  one 
mad  act. 

Wherefore  he  found  the  presence  of  Grogan  not  un- 
welcome to  his  troubled  spirit.  When  he  met  the  scarred 
man  he  now  made  no  effort  to  conceal  the  mood  in  which 
he  stared  at  him.  In  truth  there  was  no  need  for  them 
to  say  aught  to  one  another.  Each  understood.  And 
Tarrant  watched  Grogan  and  Grogan  watched  Tarrant 
with  the  eyes  of  a  hunter  who  is  hunting  and  knows  his 
quarry  is  hunting  him.  The  result,  however,  instead  of 
producing  indications  of  an  imminent  clash  were  just  the 
opposite.  Bodine,  apparently,  had  cautioned  Grogan,  for 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  143 

the  latter  ceased  his  wanderings  about  the  field  in  the 
vicinity  of  Tarrant's  operations.  He  avoided  Tarrant's 
producing  wells  and  the  wildcat,  as  well  as  Tarrant  him- 
self. 

One  Saturday  night  Tarrant  stood  alone  before  the 
shack  which  served  him  as  office  and  sleeping  quarters. 
A  restlessness  filled  his  being.  His  young  blood  ran 
hotly,  and  within  him  was  an  urge  and  a  discontent  which 
made  him  uneasy.  Above  him  a  troubled  sky  was  illu- 
mined at  intervals  by  the  uncertain  shimmer  of  heat 
lightning.  About  Tin  Spout  lay  the  great  open  plains, 
with  their  slightly  rolling  hills,  measureless  as  the  billows 
of  a  boundless  sea. 

Tarrant  moved  restlessly  and  his  eyes  were  turned  away 
from  the  town.  Low  down  in  the  darkness,  out  on  the 
country  roads  could  be  seen  tiny  lights  streaking  across 
the  face  of  night  like  swift  will-o'-the-wisps.  They  were 
motor  cars,  and  as  it  was  Saturday  night  Tarrant  knew 
that  most  of  them  bore  loads  of  prosperous,  reckless  oil- 
men bent  upon  the  pursuit  of  the  oil  fields'  hectic  night 
pleasures.  Tin  Spout  as  yet  did  not  provide  these  pleas- 
ures either  in  quantity  or  quality  sufficient  to  satisfy  the 
demand,  hence  a  goodly  portion  of  the  field's  population 
was  on  wheels  to-night,  proceeding  swiftly  whither  such 
pleasures  were  to  be  obtained. 

Tarrant  drove  his  car  down  to  the  gasoline  station  in 
Tin  Spout.  Two  gaging  machines  were  at  work  pouring 
fuel  into  the  tanks  of  cars  and  yet  there  was  a  jam  at  the 
station  which  forced  Tarrant  to  wait  long  for  his  turn. 
He  alighted  from  his  car  and  walked  forward. 

"Lafe,"  said  he  sternly  to  the  proprietor,  "I  suspect  that 


144  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

is  Choctaw  beer  you  are  running  into  those  tanks.  It 
sure  is  too  popular  to  be  gasoline." 

"If  it  was  Choc,  Spence,"  chuckled  the  garage  man, 
wiping  his  brow,  "I'd  have  this  spigot  in  my  mouth  'stead 
in  this  tank." 

"Come  on!"  spoke  a  voice 'peremptorily.  "Fill  those 
road  lice  and  give  a  real  car  a  chance." 

Bodine's  great  car  came  rolling  up,  and  the  chauffeur 
talked  as  he  came. 

"Make  it  be  quick;  my  people  are  waiting.  Fill  'er  up 
to  the  snozzle.  The  emergency  tank  too.  This  will  be  an 
all-night  party,  I  suspect.  We're  going  over  to  the  Coun- 
try Club,  and  by  the  signs  I  guess  we  won't  be  back  here 
till  Monday  A.M." 

The  chauffeur  winked  at  the  garage  man  in  a  manner 
which  drew  a  query. 

"Something  special  going  with  you  ?" 

The  chauffeur  leaned  forward  confidentially. 

"The  new  chicken,"  whispered  he.  "She's  so  innocent 
she  thinks  the  Country  Club  is  a  country  club." 

"Just  the  two  of  them  going?" 

"Nix.  Think  he's  a  coarse  worker?"  said  the  chauf- 
feur. "Wayne  and  'his  wife,  too.  Smooth  stuff,  you 
know.  A  nice  little  family  party !" 

As  Tarrant  walked  back  to  his  car  a  voice  greeted  him 
eagerly. 

"Tarrant,  Tarrant?  I  thought  I  see  your  car,"  said 
Old  Man  Swanson.  "Boy,  you  look  wild  as  a  wildcat. 
Just  like  I  feel.  Don't  give  a  demn  for  expense;  going  to 
have  a  good  time  to-night." 

Tarrant  leaned  against  his  car  and  quietly  recovered 
his  poise. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  145 

"You  darned  old  alcohol-drinking,  snuff-chewing  Scan- 
dihoovian,"  he  drawled  "Haven't  you  got  any  respect 
for  the  few  gray  hairs  you've  got  left  ?  You  ought  to  be 
living  a  different  life,  Swanson ;  ought  to  be  giving  young 
fellows  like  me  advice,  and  setting  an  example  and  telling 
how  hard  you  worked  and  how  smart  you  were  to  make 
your  fortune.  Ain't  you  ever  going  to  grow  old  ?" 

"I  was  old  when  I  was  young,  Tarrant,"  bubbled  the 
millionaire.  "Worked  like  hal'  all  day  long  an'  never 
looked  at  the  'brewirin.'  Then  the  country  goes  dry  and  I 
begin  to  drink  and  the  boys  hit  oil  on  my  ranch.  To  hal' 
with  advice!  Think  I  am  demn  hypocrite?  What  you 
doing  to-night,  Tarrant?  You  got  a  girl?" 

Tarrant  shook  his  head. 

"You  look  hard,  boy,"  said  Swanson  after  a  pause. 
"Where  you  going  ?" 

"Why,  I  was  thinking  of  running  out  to  the  Country 
Club,  Swanson,"  replied  Tarrant. 

"Me  too,  Tarrant,"  said  the  old  man,  "though  they  rob 
you  out  there  now.  They  rob  you  on  the  price  of  booze, 
and  they  rob  you  with  a  crooked  wheel  and  a  brace  box, 
and  if  they  don't  get  it  all  that  way  they  put  some  demn 
dope  in  your  drink  and  go  through  your  pockets,  and  if 
you  holler  they  give  you  the  black jeck  and  throw  you  out. 
It's  a  hell  hole  now." 

"You  seem  to  know  all  about  it,  old-timer,"  said  Tar- 
rant. 

"Of  course,"  was  the  unabashed  retort  "Don't  I  go 
out  there  every  night  ?" 

"Ole,  you'll  never  amount  to  anything,  running  round 
and  frequenting  disreputable  resorts  the  way  you  do," 
drawled  the  young  man. 


146  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"Nos-sir-ee !  It  was  a  demn  nice  place  till  that  Grogan 
got  hold  of  it  and " 

"What!" 

Tarrant's  cloak  of  nonchalance  was  flung  aside  in  a 
flash. 

"Good  cripes,  Tarrant !"  expostulated  Swanson.  "Don't 
scare  me  to  death." 

"Grogan — out  there  running  the  Country  Club?" 

"Certainly.    Didn't  you  know?" 

"Is  he  out  there  now — to-night?" 

"Saturday  night?    Of  course  he  is." 

"Well,"  said  Tarrant  after  a  pause,  "I  reckon  I  ought 
to  run  out  and  see  what  it  is  like." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

wickedly  famed  establishment  which  existed 
•*•  under  the  name  of  the  Country  Club  was  out  in  the 
country,  but  with  this  its  right  to  the  use  of  the  title 
ended.  It  was  a  long,  one-story  building  set  down  on  the 
plains  so  far  from  the  habitations  of  mankind  that  it  was 
considered  to  be  beyond  the  law.  Good  roads  and  the 
motor  car  made  it  possible  and  profitable.  The  roads  led 
from  various  cities  and  towns  and  oil  fields,  and  the  cars 
which  came  rolling  thither  nightly  bore  representatives  of 
all  classes  of  men  to  be  found  in  the  section.  The  cold- 
eyed  financier  and  the  lowly  roughneck  rubbed  shoulders. 
The  millionaire  who  was  made  yesterday  sat  at  a  table 
with  the  man  who  had  gone  broke  the  same  day.  Whisky 
was  fifty  dollars  a  quart.  That  was  the  only  fact  to  be 
considered.  If  a  man  could  and  would  buy  this  com- 
modity at  that  price  he  was  welcome,  regardless  of  all 
else.  He  might  be  a  criminal,  a  murderer,  and  often  he 
was,  but  at  the  far-famed  Country  Club  his  money  was  as 
good  as  any  man's  in  the  realm. 

The  place  was  in  reality  built  around  a  great  dance 
floor.  Booths  and  lightly  partitioned  rooms  lined  the 
wall.  In  the  booths  the  dance-hall  girls  pursued  the  weary 
task  of  wiling  drinks  from  the  customers  between  dances, 
and  in  other  rooms  prevailed  the  whir  and  click  of  the 
roulette  wheel,  the  rattle  of  chips  and  the  hectic  atmosphere 
of  wild  gambling. 

Tarrant  was  no  stranger  to  the  Country  Club,  but  his 

147 


148  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

visits  had  been  infrequent,  and  as  he  noted  the  number 
and  quality  of  the  motor  cars  parked  outside  he  saw  that 
great  changes  had  taken  place.  There  was  a  new  note  in 
the  cars,  the  crowd,  everything.  It  was  driven  home  to 
him  that  a  new  day  had  dawned  in  the  oil  fields.  It  was 
the  day  of  the  boom.  New  elements  were  present,  height- 
ening the  pitch  of  frenzy  which  invariably  obtained  here 
on  Saturday  night.  There  had  always  been  a  number  of 
valuable  cars  to  be  seen  outside  the  Country  Club  at  night, 
but  now  there  were  solid  ranks  of  them.  They  were  not 
merely  expensive,  but  showy,  the  sort  of  cars  driven  by 
men  flashily  seeking  to  create  an  impression.  As  Tarrant 
thrust  his  way  through  the  crowd  which  swarmed  about 
the  entrance  he  saw  the  men  who  owned  these  cars  and  h« 
saw  they  were  of  the  new  element  that  had  descended 
upon  the  oil  fields.  Keen,  bold,  crafty  and  well  dressed, 
they  presented  a  contrast  to  the  red-faced,  rough  and 
hearty  oilmen  with  whom  they  mingled. 

Within  the  building  a  new,  a  tenser  atmosphere  seemed 
to  prevail.  The  jazz  was  louder  and  wilder,  the  dance 
faster,  the  crowd  more  excited  and  more  reckless  in  its 
abandon.  The  doors  to  the  gambling  rooms  were  open. 
Women  gambled,  their  gowns  bright  spots  of  color  among 
the  duck  or  khaki  of  the  men,  their  bursts  of  strained 
laughter  shrill  punctuation  of  the  insistent  male  growl 
which  rose  from  the  throng. 

Tarrant  had  driven  recklessly  and  chosen  short  cuts  and 
he  had  arrived  in  advance  of  Bodine  and  his  party.  He 
strolled  forward,  greeting  Hennessy  and  other  friends 
casually.  A  waiter  motioned  him  to  a  booth  where  a 
girl  sat  waiting,  but  Tarrant  merely  smiled  and  went  on. 
A  roughneck,  unshaven  and  bleary  and  red-clayed  to  the 


Tarrant  -of  Tin  Spout  149 

knees,  staggered  into  the  booth  and  was  greeted  with  a 
smile.  Tarrant  looked  in  the  roulette  room.  A  strange 
man  was  in  charge.  Strange  men  were  in  charge  every- 
where. He  sensed  this  as  part  of  the  change.  Hard- 
featured,  brutalised  men  lounged  about  with  the  eyes  of 
wolves.  He  saw  the  waiter  pick  the  roughneck's  pocket 
while  the  girl  held  his  attention,  then  four  of  the  hard- 
faced  men  made  a  rush  and  the  roughneck  was  thrown  out 
so  expeditiously  that  he  had  not  even  time  to  make  his 
protest  heard. 

"They  can't  get  rough  in  here,"  said  a  head  waiter  with 
affected  indignation.  "They  gotta  behave." 

A  girl  with  bare  arms  came  skipping  across  the  floor 
to  Tarrant. 

"Hello,  buddy,"  she  said.    "Going  to  dance?" 

"I'm  sorry,  but  I  am  not  dancing,"  said  Tarrant. 

"But  you're  going  to  buy  me  a  drink,  aren't  you?"  she 
persisted  mechanically. 

"A  so  ft  drink?" 

"Hell !"  she  said  calmly.    "You  look  like  a  live  one,  too." 

Tarrant  left  the  dance  floor  and  entered  the  room  de- 
voted to  stud  poker.  Here  as  elsewhere  there  was  a  new 
feverishness  in  the  atmosphere.  Men  whom  Tarrant  rec- 
ognised as  old  hands  at  the  game  were  betting  with  the 
recklessness  of  men  who  were  intoxicated.  They  were 
intoxicated,  he  decided,  after  looking  on  for  a  while. 
Every  man  there  was  intoxicated,  even  though  he  did  not 
touch  drink.  Tarrant  caught  the  significance  of  it  all 
now,  and  he  saw  the  sudden  wealth  of  the  oil  fields  as  a 
hungry  river  of  liquid  gold,  pouring  up  from  the  earth 
and  engulfing  all  who  came  in  its  way;  dazzling,  luring, 
maddening  them  until  in  desperation  they  hurled  them- 


150  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

•selves  frantically  into  the  heart  of  the  current  and  were 
swept  away  by  the  power  of  the  rich,  crude  oil. 

Then  he  caught  sight  of  Bodine.  The  promoter  had 
just  entered,  and  as  he  stood  surveying  the  room  he 
smiled,  but  shook  his  head.  Tarrant  worked  his  way  to- 
ward the  door  as  a  head  waiter  came  hurrying  obse- 
quiously up  to  Bodine. 

"Got  a  nice  booth  for  you  over  in  the  corner,  Mr.  BCH 
dine,"  he  heard  the  waiter  say.  "Fix  it  up  with  a  curtain 
in  front  if  you  say  so." 

Bodine  shook  his  head,  while  smiling  appreciatively  at 
the  scene  on  the  floor. 

"No,  Joe,  I'm  afraid  this  would  be  a  little  too  much  of 
a  treat  for  my  company  all  at  once,"  he  said  with  a  laugh. 
"Yes,  just  a  little  bit  too  strong  for  a  starter.  Where  is 
Grogan?" 

"He  is  in  the  office,  Mr.  Bodine." 

"All  right.  Tell  him  I  want  the  "private  room,  and  tell 
him  to  make  it  his  own  particular  business  to  see  that  no- 
tody  intrudes  on  us." 

"Yes,  sir.    How  many  in  the  party,  Mr.  Bodine  ?" 

"Four,"  said  the  promoter,  "but  the  other  pair  will  be 
dancing  most  of  the  time." 

The  effect  of  Bodine's  words  on  Tarrant  was  akin  to 
that  of  an  explosive. 

"Like  a  charge  of  nitro  on  the  cap  rock,"  he  thought 
afterwards.  Even  as  the  released  forces  of  gas  and  oil 
rush  to  the  surface  at  the  smash  of  the  explosive,  so  Tar- 
rant felt  the  old  recklessness  in  him,  the  combined  intensity 
and  devil-may-careness  which  in  earlier  days  might  have 
made  him  a  killer,  welling  up  within  him  and  craving 
expression.  He  yearned  for  violence.  His  mood  just 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  151 

then  was  the  mood  of  a  bad  man  with  the  fighting  lust 
upon  him.  He  was  in  no  fog ;  no  poison  of  anger  clouded 
his  brain.  On  the  contrary  his  sense  of  perception  was 
abnormally  keen  and  alert.  The  smirk  of  the  oily-faced 
head  waiter,  even  the  sneak's  poise  of  the  man's  head  as  he 
hurried  across  the  floor,  told  their  tale  to  him. 

He  saw  Grogan  appear  promptly  at  the  waiter's  sum- 
mons. Grogan  was  in  his  shirt  sleeves.  Tarrant  noted 
the  fact,  noted  that  there  was  no  bulge  upon  Grogan's  hip 
or  elsewhere  upon  his  person,  and  appraised  these  facts  at 
their  proper  value.  He  was  carrying  his  own  coat  upon 
his  arm  at  the  time,  but  now  he  put  it  on.  The  advantage 
was  with  him.  And  yet  this  Knowledge  did  not  satisfy 
him.  The  desire  for  violence,  not  for  a  mere  triumph, 
was  too  strong  within  him.  He  regretted  for  the  while 
his  responsibilities.  He  wished  himself  entirely  free,  with 
no  duties  toward  his  stockholders,  toward  his  properties, 
toward  anyone  or  anything,  to  be  fulfilled.  Bodine's 
words  were  a  taunt  and  a  goad.  He  seemed  to  be  choking. 

"Tarrant,  Tarrant,  have  a  drink,  have  a  drink!"  cried 
Old  Man  Swanson. 

Tarrant  thrust  him  aside. 

"To  hell  with  your  drink!"  he  said  thickly. 

"Stewed!"  stammered  Swanson.  "I  knew  something 
was  wrong." 

Grogan  had  unlocked  a  door  near  the  roulette  room  and 
•was  standing  before  it,  waiting. 

"Stop  the  jazz!"  he  ordered.  "Clear  the  floor.  Stop 
the  rough  stuff." 

The  head  waiter  and  his  cohorts  spread  swiftly  to  obey 
the  order.  The  orchestra  stopped  playing  abruptly. 
Dancers  were  hustled  off  the  floor,  and  noisy  celebrants 


152  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

were  roughly  quieted.  The  room  achieved  a  momentary 
appearance  of  decorum.  Bodine  had  entered  and  was 
swiftly  ushering  his  party  toward  the  door  Grogan  was 
guarding.  Tarrant  saw  Marjorie  start  as  she  looked 
round.  Bodine's  hand  was  upon  her  arm  and  he  laughed 
assuringly. 

"Just  a  little  dance  party,"  said  Bodine.  "Isn't  it, 
Wayne?" 

"Just  a  nice  little  dance  party,"  agreed  Wayne  fatu- 
ously. 

Marjorie  hesitated.  A  dance-hall  girl  had  projected 
herself  into  her  field  of  vision,  and  the  abbreviated  cos- 
tume of  her  profession  was  startling. 

"A  costume  dance,"  purred  Bodine. 

"Yes,  yes.  Costume  dance,"  echoed  Wayne.  "Isn't  it, 
my  dear?" 

"Yes,  of  course,"  tittered  Mrs.  Wayne.  "Besides,  we'll 
be  all  alone,  dearie.  For  goodness  sake,  come  on !" 

Marjorie  had  definitely  halted.  She  had  freed  her  arm 
from  Bodine's  hand  and  was  staring  about  her. 

"But  you  said  it  was  a  country  club!"  she  exclaimed. 
"You  said " 

"It's  Saturday  night!"  laughed  Bodine.  "The  mem- 
bers get  a  little  playful.  Come  along." 

"Dearie,  you  don't  for  a  minute  fancy  I  would  be  here 
if  it  wasn't  perfectly  all  right,  do  you?"  demanded  Mrs. 
Wayne. 

"Nice,  qaiet  little  crowd,"  said  Wayne. 

Marjorie  looked  round.  The  crowd  was  quiet.  For 
the  moment  no  improprieties  were  apparent.  Mrs.  Wayne 
she  knew  to  be,  if  not  a  particularly  intelligent,  at  least, 
a  good  woman. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  153 

"Step  in — this  way,  please,"  said  the  head  waiter,  bow- 
ing obsequiously  before  the  open  door  of  the  private 
room. 

It  was  the  last  he  remembered  for  several  minutes,  for 
as  he  turned  a  hard  fist  struck  him  on  the  jaw  and  he 
tumbled  headlong  into  the  private  room. 

"Grogan,"  came  Tarrant's  challenge  icily,  "I  am  calling 
you." 

The  blow  and  the  sound  of  a  man  falling  ruined  Gro- 
gan's  orders  to  keep  the  place  quiet  A  cry  rose  from  the 
crowd.  It  became  a  roar. 

"Fight — fight !"  rang  the  cries.  "Jazz  it  up.  Ee-yow." 
The  pent-up  intoxication  of  the  crowd  vented  itself  in  a 
wild  outburst.  Men  shouted  and  laughed.  Women 
screamed  hysterically.  A  drunken  roughneck  smashed  a 
bottle  on  the  floor.  A  bouncer  struck  him,  a  fight  started, 
and  in  a  moment  a  dozen  men  were  embroiled.  Curses 
rose  above  the  sound  of  blows,  and  a  girl  all  by  herself 
with  a  whisky  bottle  in  her  hand,  stood  upon  a  table  and 
dared  anyone  to  touch  her,  just  dare  to  touch  her ! 

The  fight  about  the  drunken  roughneck  had  been  made 
possible  because  a  majority  of  the  bouncers  had  run  to- 
ward Tarrant  and  consequently  were  not  at  their  posts  to 
suppress  the  disorder  when  it  began. 

"Grogan,  I  am  calling  you,"  said  Tarrant,  and  the 
bouncers  stopped. 

Grogan's  countenance  was  a  study.  All  the  feral  char- 
acteristics of  the  man  had  asserted  themselves  and  found 
expression  in  his  face.  It  was  the  face  of  an  enraged 
tiger,  slit  eyed,  bare  toothed,  deadly,  but  a  tiger  cornered 
and  afraid  to  spring.  The  automatic  movement  of  his 
hands,  the  thumbs  curved  out,  toward  his  flanks,  and  the 


154  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

look  of  defeat  in  his  eyes  as  his  hands  found  nothing,  be- 
trayed him. 

"They  are  not  there,  Grogan,"  said  Tarrant  in  the  same 
deadly  tone.  "Why  don't  you  wear  a  coat  ?" 

Grogan's  eyes  leaped  with  fear  at  the  words.  His  gaze 
flashed  to  the  left  breast  of  Tarrant's  loose  coat,  at  the 
oilman's  right  hand,  and  his  mouth  closed  and  came  open 
with  a  gasp.  His  hands  rose  helplessly  to  a  level  with  his 
ears. 

"What  you  after  me  for  ?"  he  gasped. 

The  bouncers  were  sneaking  toward  Tarrant's  back, 
but  Old  Man  Swanson  and  Jim  Hennessy  and  a  dozen 
oilmen  came  roughly  to  the  fore. 

"Bodine,  Bodine,"  said  the  old  man,  "this  is  your  fault. 
This  girl  should  not  be  here.  You  know  that.  Don't  give 
a  demn  for  expense,"  he  exploded  as  a  bouncer  snarled  at 
him.  "Going  to  see  fair  play  here  to-night !" 

Marjorie  had  drawn  back  at  the  clash  between  Tarrant 
and  Grogan.  The  full  import  of  the  scene  was  hidden  to 
her,  but  instinctively  she  sensed  what  the  others  under- 
stood from  experience.  Courageous  as  she  was  she 
quailed  before  this.  Her  whole  being  revolted.  She  felt 
weak  and  alone  and  faint. 

"Come."  There  was  a  rough  arm  about  her  waist,  sup- 
porting her,  leading  her  toward  the  door.  She  was  not 
conscious  whose  arm  it  was,  but  it  was  strong  and  friendly 
and  she  leaned  upon  it  gratefully.  She  felt  herself  being 
helped  into  a  car,  and  the  open  air  revived  her. 

"Wait,  wait !"  she  cried. 

"Don't  you  worry,  miss,"  said  Hennessy,  the  well 
shooter.  "I'm  no  angel,  but  I  will  see  you  out  of  this." 

"But  I  don't  know  you,"  she  faltered. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  155 

"I  am  a  friend  of  Spence  Tarrant's,"  said  Hennessy, 
"and  I  have  daughters  of  my  own." 

"But  he— Mr.  Tarrant " 

Hennessy  grinned  as  he  threw  in  the  clutch. 

"Don't  worry,"  said  he  tersely,  "Spence  won't  hurt 
them." 

Within  the  room  Tarrant  had  backed  across  the  floor 
and  stood  in  the  doorway,  grimly  facing  the  sullen  crowd. 
The  tension  had  risen  to  the  breaking  point.  And  then 
the  crowd  gasped,  stood  frozen  dumb,  dazed.  Tarrant 
flung  wide  the  sides  of  his  coat,  and  showed  that  there 
was  no  weapon  beneath ;  there  was  nothing  but  a  pongee 
silk  shirt.  And  then  he  smiled  and  vanished  in  the  night 


CHAPTER  XIX 

T  TENNESSY  drove  swiftly  and  in  silence  until  he  had 
•*•  •*•  put  a  good  distance  between  them  and  the  Country 
Club,  then  he  reduced  the  speed  and  threw  his  gray  head 
back  with  a  shout  of  laughter. 

"By  golly,  that  boy  Tarrant  is  a  corker!"  he  confided 
to  the  world  in  general.  "Young  lady,  I  reckon  you  didn't 
get  his  scheme?" 

"His — scheme?"  repeated  Marjorie  in  bewilderment. 

"Sure !"  roared  the  old  man.  "You  didn't  think  he  was 
doing  that  for  fun,  did  you  ?" 

"I  didn't  know — how  could  I  know  what  he  was  doing 
it  for?"  said  the  girl.  "It  was  a  quarrel,  was  it  not? 
That  is  all  I  saw.  Oh,  it  was  terrible — terrible " 

"Ha,  ha,  ha !"  exploded  the  well  shooter.  "It  was  ter- 
rible !  Oh,  sure,  it  was  terrible.  He's  a  terrible  guy !" 

"Mr.  Bodine  said  he  was — drunk?"  said  she  timidly. 

"Drunk?  Tarrant?''  snapped  Hennessy.  "Only  time  I 
see  him  drunk  was  two  years  ago,  time  of  the  big  camp 
meeting  at  Tin  Spout,  and  then  we  all  got  laid  out  on  one 
drink  because  'the  stuff  the  bootleggers  sold  us  was  doped. 
No,  sir — young  lady,  that  isn't  his  style.  No  drinking 
man  could  pull  off  a  slick  trick  like  that." 

"A  trick?"  repeated  Marjorie.     "I  don't  understand." 

"Miss,"  said  Hennessy,  "when  you  come  out  there  you 
— you  didn't  know  what  sort  of  a  place  it  was,  did  you  ?" 

"No,"  she  replied  with  a  shudder.  "They — Mr.  Bo- 
dine  and  Wayne — said  it  was  a  country  club." 

156 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  157 

The  well  shooter  drove  in  silence  for  a  full  minute. 

"Poor  Wayne!"  he  said  grimly.  "Well,  Spence  Tar- 
rant  saw  you  didn't  know — same  as  the  rest  of  us  did. 
Miss,  there  was  a  rough  crowd  out  there  to-night,  but  I'm 
telling  you  there  was  a  whole  lot  of  men  sore  to  see  you 
there  and  sore  at  a  certain  party.  But  the  difference  was 
that  Spence  had  brains  enough  to  do  something.  He 
didn't  want  to  see  you  to  stay  there,  in  that  private  room, 
same  as  we  didn't;  and  he  jumped  Grogan  just  to  give  you 
time  to  get  a  good  look  and — make  up  your  mind  about 
staying  or  not.  I  seen  him  when  he  drove  up.  He  had 
his  coat  off  then. 

"I've  seen  a  few  nervy  things  in  my  day,  miss,"  con- 
tinued Hennessy.  "Man  running  a  torpedo  business  does. 
I  see  a  well  blow  herself  in  with  a  shell  full  of  nitro  half- 
way down  the  casing  and  the  shooter  stood  by  and  caught 
the  shell  when  she  shot  up.  But  to  walk  up  to  Grogan, 
with  his  gang  of  thugs  and  high  jackets  round  him  and  to 
bluff  him  without  a  gun — miss,  when  you  get  old  you  can 
tell  your  grandchildren  once  upon  a  time  you  saw  a  tnan  I" 

Marjorie's  thoughts  and  emotions  were  in  a  tumult. 
She  huddled  back  in  the  seat  and  was  glad  that  the  dark- 
ness hid  her  face.  The  shock  of  the  scene  at  the  Country 
Club  was  still  upon  her.  The  barrenness  of  the  prairie 
night  through  which  they  were  driving  oppressed  her 
with  a  sense  of  loneliness,  even  helplessness.  But  above 
all,  though  she  refused  to  admit  it  even  to  herself,  there 
ran  a  memory  which  thrilled  her  and  sent  the  red  in  waves 
to  her  cheeks.  She  had  known  this  emotion  once  before, 
and  then  as  now  it  was  intermingled  with  anger  and  a 
sense  of  humiliation  and  even  shame.  Why,  oh  why, 
should  the  sight  of  him  bring  it  back  so  vividly!  Why 


158  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

the  spectacle  of  Tarrant  ready  to  engage  in  a — a  brawl — 
stir  her  so?  Why  should  it  bring  back  the  strange  mo- 
ment which  had  come  to  her  that  day  after  he  had — she 
searched  her  mind  indignantly  for  the  proper  phrase — 
when  he  had  played  the  brute?  A  blush  mantled  her 
countenance  and  she  turned  away  from  Hennessy  in  spite 
of  the  darkness. 

"You  look  a  little  tired,  miss,"  said  Hennessy  kindly  as 
he  helped  her  out  at  the  hotel  in  Tin  Spout.  "Don't  you 
let  it  pester  you.  Unpleasant  things  is  bound  to  happen 
to  the  best  of  us.  Chalk  it  up  to  experience,  that's  my 
system." 

"But  such  an  experience!"  said  Marjorie  with  a  shudder. 

"It  was  tough,"  agreed  Hennessy.  "But  even  so,  you 
can  figure  a  profit  in  it.  Folks  who  never  went  out  to  the 
Country  Club  with  Bodine  don't  know  just  what  he  or  it 
is." 

Marjorie  went  to  her  father's  room  and  knocked.  Dick- 
inson opened  the  door.  The  floor  of  his  room  was  strewn 
with  newspapers,  and  he  was  considerably  excited. 

"I  tell  you,  Marjorie,"  he  exclaimed,  expressing  the 
thought  in  his  mind  regardless  of  her  appearance,  "oil  is 
the  greatest  thing  in  the  world  just  at  present.  Look  at 
those  papers.  Not  a  one  of  them  but  has  an  item  about 
the  great  fortunes  being  made  in  oil.  Look  here,  here's 
a  long  article  about  Adair.  The  new  Rockefeller  they  call 
him.  Began  just  as  I  am  doing,  with  an  investment  in 
oil.  Now  owns  refineries,  pipe  lines;  millionaire  many 
times  over;  one  of  the  big,  strong  men  of  the  country.  A 
young  man,  too ;  like  Bodine " 

"Daddy,"  said  Marjorie  quietly.    She  was  sitting  with 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  159 

her  chin  in  her  hands,  looking  blankly  before  her,  obvi- 
ously unconscious  of  his  remarks. 

"Eh?"  said  Dickinson  absently.  "And  the  real  boom 
in  the  oil  business  has  only  begun.  Look  where  the  price 
is  to-day ;  two  dollars  a  barrel,  and  the  refiners  offering  a 
premium  of  twenty-five  cents.  "Look  at  the  way  the  auto- 
mobile factories  are  turning  out  cars.  We'll  have  a  nation 
on  wheels.  All  have  got  to  buy  gasoline,  and  who  will 
profit  most?  Oil!  That's  it.  It's  big,  big " 

"Were  you  ever  out  at  the  Country  Club  ?"  asked  Mar- 
jorie  flatly. 

"Eh,  what?"  Dickinson  faltered  in  full  flight  and 
stared  at  her  over  his  glasses.  "What  say,  Marjorie?" 

She  repeated  her  question. 

"H'm,"  said  her  father. 

"With  Mr.  Bodine?" 

"H'm,"  said  Dickinson  again. 

Marjorie  lifted  her  face  and  looked  up  at  him. 

"Daddy,  why  did  you  allow  Mr.  Bodine  to  take  me  out 
to  that  place  this  evening?"  she  asked. 

"Bodine — Bodine  is  here,  isn't  he,  Marjorie?"  asked 
Dickinson  anxiously. 

"No,"  she  said;  "I  left  him  when  I  saw  what  sort  of  a 
place  it  was.  A  man  named  Hennessy  drove  me  home." 

"What?"  Dickinson  threw  out  his  arms  and  began  to 
pace  the  floor.  "You  haven't  offended  Bodine,  I  hope, 
Marjorie?  You  haven't  done  that.  Why — why  you 
mustn't — you  mustn't  antagonise  him.  Think  what  a 
chance  he  is  giving  me.  A  chance  to  get  up  among  the 
big  men  of  the  country.  You  wouldn't  spoil  my  chance, 
would  you,  Marjorie?" 

The  girl  rose. 


160  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"Are  you  going  to  answer  my  question?"  she  asked 
coldly.  "Why  did  you  let  me  go  with  him  out  to  that 
place?" 

"Why,  great  Scott,  Marjorie,  there  was  no  harm  done," 
he  stammered  indignantly.  "Don't  you  think  I  know  what 
is  best  for  you  ?  Don't  you  think  I  do  my  best  for  you  ? 
I  hope  you  haven't  seriously  offended  Mr.  Bodine  ?  Great 
Scott !  Tell  me  about  it." 

"Since  you  prefer  not  to  answer  me,  I  won't  stay  any 
longer,"  she  said.  "Mr.  Bodine  will  tell  you  about  it,  I 
suppose.  Good-night,  daddy." 

She  went  slowly  to  her  room,  but  she  made  no  prepara- 
tion to  retire.  Seated  on  the  side  of  her  bed  she  folded 
her  arms  and  sat  staring  at  the  floor.  Her  father's  words, 
inspired  by  his  quickened  greed,  obtruded  new  thoughts 
upon  her.  She  had  seen  how  the  craze  for  oil  wealth  had 
affected  men,  driving  them  into  a  frenzy,  sweeping  them 
off  their  feet,  engulfing  them  in  a  sudden  madness.  Was 
she,  too,  caught  in  this  oil  craze  ?  Was  she  merely  a  pawn 
in  the  great  game  being  played  for  the  stakes  of  liquid 
gold? 

She  lost  track  of  time  as  she  sat  and  pondered.  It  grew 
late,  but  people  gave  but  little  time  for  sleep  at  Tin  Spout 
then,  so  the  hotel  did  not  grow  quiet,  though  midnight 
approached  and  passed.  "I  must  know,"  she  murmured. 
"I  will  make  him  tell  me." 

She  went  down  the  hall  to  her  father's  room.  The  door 
was  ajar  and  as  she  peered  in  she  halted.  Bodine  and  her 
father  were  together  and  the  promoter's  heavy  voice  was 
audible  in  the  hall. 

"Tarrant  started  a  row,  that's  all,"  he  was  saying  easily. 
"I  have  given  up  trying  to  use  him.  Wish  we  could.  He 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  161 

could  make  a  lot  of  money  for  us.  But  there  is  no  chance. 
We'll  get  rid  of  him.  He  will  have  to  leave  this  field." 

"I  knew  him  for  a  ruffian  the  moment  I  laid  eyes  on 
him,"  babbled  Dickinson. 

"He's  the  best  oilman  here,"  said  Bodine  coldly. 
"That's  why  I  put  up  with  him  as  long  as  I  have,  hoping 
we  could  use  him.  Now  he  is  through  here.  We'll  send 
him  out  of  here  with  nothing  but  his  bare  hands." 

"And  serve  him  right,  too!"  added  Dickinson.  "The 
quicker  we  are  rid  of  him  the  better." 

"Don't  worry;  it  won't  be  long,"  said  Bodine  with  a 
laugh  as  he  turned  to  go.  "You  won't  forget  to  explain 
to  Marjorie?" 

"Leave  that  to  me,  Mr.  Bodine,"  interrupted  the  doctor 
unctuously.  "I  assure  you  she  understands.  Yes,  yes; 
she  is  a  clever  girl — she  understands." 

Marjorie  fled  to  her  room  and  locked  herself  in.  Tears 
of  shame  and  helplessness  came  to  her  eyes.  She  saw  her- 
self as  a  pawn — a  pawn  in  the  mad  game  of  oil !  Doctor 
Dickinson  was  right :  she  did  understand. 

Elmer's  reaction  to  the  affair  was  characteristic.  He 
went  directly  to  the  office  which  the  Pan-National  Syndi- 
cate had  opened  at  Tin  Spout.  A  clerk  halted  him  at  the 
door  of  the  president's  sanctum,  but  Bodine,  recognizing 
the  old  man's  voice,  called  heartily :  "Come  in !" 

"Sit  down.  Have  a  cigar,"  said  the  promoter.  "What 
is  on  your  chest  ?" 

"Hair,"  said  Elmer,  and  looked  at  him  with  his  faded 
blue  eyes.  Bodine  returned  the  scrutiny  unmoved. 

"Old  man,"  said  he  presently,  "I  wish  you  were  working 
for  me." 


162  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"Hell !"  exploded  Elmer.  "Slim  was  right :  this  one  is 
a  stiff  citizen,  too.  Hornbre,  I  ain't  working  for  you,  and 
I  don't  aim  to ;  and  I  am  working  for  Spence  Tarrant,  and 
I  ain't  so  old  but  what  my  eyes  are  good  and  I  know  a 
hired  gunman  when  I  see  one.  Bodine,  I  came  here  to 
give  you  notice:  if  this  thing  comes  back  on  Tarrant  / 
start  hunting  you." 

"I  still  maintain  I  wish  you  were  working  for  me,"  re- 
turned Bodine  imperturbably. 

"And  I'm  a  good  hunter,  Bodine,"  the  old  man  went 
on,  "and  I  know  all  about  you  and  Grogan  down  at 
Tampico." 

A  glimmer  of  surprise  flickered  the  steadiness  of  the 
promoter's  gaze  for  an  instant. 

"And  Tarrant  knows !"  continued  Elmer.  "Yes,  by  the 
lord  Harry!  He  knew  what  Grogan  was,  and  he  bucked 
him  without  a  gun.  That  means  a  come-back,  unless  you 
whisper  a  word  to  Grogan.  Better  do  it,  Bodine.  There 
ain't  enough  of  me  left  to  be  careful  about.  I'm  depending 
on  you  to  see  that  it  won't  be  necessary  for  me  to  lay  off 
the  job  and  turn  you  into  about  two  hundred  pounds  of 
spoiled  meat." 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  N  accident  to  the  string  of  tools  used  in  drilling  the 
*  ^-  wildcat  well  engrossed  all  of  Tarrant's  energy  and 
attention  for  the  next  few  days.  Fifteen  hundred  feet 
down  in  the  earth,  at  the  bottom  of  the  tiny  hole,  the  huge 
steel  bit  was  jarred  loose  and  the  progress  of  the  well  was 
halted  while  the  nerve-wrecking  job  of  "fishing"  was  be- 
gun. Somehow  the  heavy  piece  of  steel  must  be  hooked 
and  drawn  to  the  surface.  Unless  this  could  be  accom- 
plished the  rig  must  be  moved  and  a  new  hole  be  started. 

Tarrant's  means  at  this  time  were  so  low  as  to  make 
it  entirely  out  of  the  question  for  him  to  begin  a  new  well. 
Coincident  with  the  boom  price  of  crude  oil  had  been  the 
rise  of  the  expense  of  drilling.  In  the  frantic  scramble 
to  bring  in  wells  while  oil  was  up,  operators  did  not  stop 
to  check  their  expenditures  so  long  as  the  drills  went 
downward.  The  wages  of  ordinary  laborers — the  "rough- 
necks" as  they  are  known  in  the  oil  field — rose  by  leaps 
to  ten  dollars  a  day.  Skilled  labor  advanced  in  proportion, 
drillers  being  paid  as  high  as  twenty-five  dollars. 

Tarrant  had  plunged  to  the  limit  of  his  finances  when 
he  had  resolved  upon  drilling  the  No.  5  well  beyond  the 
proved  depth  in  hope  of  striking  a  deep  oil  sand.  His  pro- 
ducing wells  at  Tin  Spout  would  furnish  him  revenue 
sufficient  to  drill  close  to  two  thousand  feet  if  the  work 
progressed  steadily.  The  completion  of  Well  No.  5  de- 
pended upon  recovering  the  lost  drill  promptly. 

News  of  the  accident  spread  in  spite  of  Tarrant's  efforts. 

163 


164  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

to  keep  it  secret  The  fishing  job  at  the  well  came  to  be 
one  of  the  most  discussed  subjects  in  the  field.  The  stock- 
holders who  had  requested  Tarrant  to  amalgamate  with  the 
Syndicate  heaped  unlimited  vituperation  upon  his  head. 
A  few  weeks  before  they  had  accounted  Tarrant  a  friend 
and  a  leader.  Now  they  saw  him  as  a  stubborn  fool,  an 
anarchist,  a  swindler. 

As  his  standing  in  the  community  decreased  and  van- 
ished the  position  of  Bodine  rapidly  became  stronger.  He 
became  the  dominant  figure.  The  citizens  looked  up  to 
him  because  they  felt  he  would  bring  them  money.  Then 
he  made  a  stroke  which  won  him  further  respect.  Word 
was  passed  about  that  Tarrant's  wildcat  was  ruined  be- 
yond hope  of  recovery.  Rather  than  see  his  friends  suffer 
a  total  loss  the  Syndicate  accepted  each  share  of  No.  5 
stock  as  the  equivalent  of  a  50  per  cent  payment  on  a  share 
of  stock  in  the  Pan-National  Syndicate.  The  response 
to  this  offer  was  such  that  Bodine  soon  held  all  of  the 
outstanding  stock  in  Tarrant's  well.  Then,  one  afternoon, 
word  was  mysteriously  flashed  through  Tin  Spout  that 
brought  a  shock  to  many.  Fortune  had  favoured  Tar- 
rant. The  drill  was  recovered  and  drilling  had  been 
resumed. 

Tarrant  sat  in  his  shack  at  Tin  Spout  that  night  tired 
and  silently  jubilant  over  the  good  fortune  by  which  the 
obstacle  had  been  overcome.  Upon  his  return  to  town  he 
had  found  more  good  news.  One  of  his  small  wells  which 
had  steadily  shown  signs  of  going  dry  had,  for  no  ap- 
parent reason,  taken  on  a  new  lease  of  life,  and  the  figures 
which  his  pump  man  handed  him  were  a  grateful  surprise. 
His  income  was  considerably  increased. 

"We're  filling  the  big  tank,  Mr.  Tarrant,"  said  the  engi- 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  165 

aeer.  "And  high-gravity  crude  took  another  two-bit 
jump." 

"That's  fine,"  said  his  employer  heartily. 

"Don't  let  anything  happen  to  the  pumps.  I  need  every 
cent  they  produce  as  fast  as  they  can  pump  it." 

The  engineer  had  departed  for  the  pump  house  but  a 
few  minutes  when  a  timid  knock  sounded  on  the  door  of 
the  shack.  Tarrant  looked  up  and  to  his  surprise  saw 
the  dark  face  of  the  Mexican  youth  Ramos,  who  had  been 
discharged  from  the  crew  of  No.  5.  The  boy  had  a  pair 
of  mud-covered  oil  boots  under  his  arm  and  Tarrant  shook 
his  head. 

"No  job,  Ramos,"  said  he.    "We  don't  need  anybody." 

"No,  no,  Sefior  Tarrant!"  said  the  Mexican,  smiling. 
"I  no  come  for  job.  I  come  from  Sefior  Buck  to  tell 
Senor  Tarrant  to  come  to  the  new  well  pronto,  and  bring 
the  harpoon  because  the  cable  it  is  broke.  Si." 

"What?"  gasped  Tarrant. 

"Si.  It  is  Sefior  Buck  say  I  tell  Sefior  Tarrant  that," 
continued  the  Mexican.  "I  go  out  and  ask  Sefior  Buck 
can  I  get  my  boots  which  I  leave.  'Si'  say  Sefior  Buck; 
and  he  give  me  the  five  dollar  and  say  I  tell  Sefior  Tarrant 
come  out  pronto  and  bring  the  harpoon  because  the  cable 
it  is  broke." 

"Is  the  well  shut  down?"  asked  Tarrant  in  a  hard  voice. 

"Si,  si!"  came  the  reply.    "All  shut  down." 

Tarrant  loaded  the  heavy  harpoonlike  tool  used  in 
spearing  broken  cable  into  his  car  and  drove  furiously  out 
to  the  lease.  As  he  drew  near  the  well  his  heart  leaped, 
for  the  familiar  sounds  from  the  machinery  told  him  the 
drill  was  running. 


i66  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"How  about  it  ?"  he  shouted  as  he  came  to  a  stop  beside 
the  platform.  "How  did  you  get  going  again?" 

Elmer,  who  was  in  charge  of  the  night  tower,  looked 
at  him  strangely. 

"We  ain't  been  shut  down  since  you  left,"  he  said. 

Questions  and  explanations  followed  swiftly. 

"Ramos  ?  He  ain't  been  here  since  I  canned  him.  Never 
had  any  boots.  Think  of  a  chola  running  a  windy  like 
that!" 

"He  didn't,"  said  Tarrant  bitterly.  "He  was  merely 
repeating  what  he  had  been  told.  He  was  just  a  stalking 
horse  for  someone  who  wanted  me  out  of  town." 

The  men  of  the  day  tower  came  tumbling  out,  Buck  in 
the  lead. 

"Mebbe  they  meant  to  lay  for  you  along  the  road,"  sug- 
gested Buck. 

"They  would  have  got  me  coming  out  if  that  was  it," 
retorted  Tarrant.  "No,  it  wasn't  that."  A  chill  ran 
through  him  at  a  sudden  thought.  "The  wells — at  Tin 
Spout!" 

He  swung  the  car  round  sharply. 

"Pile  in — Buck  and  the  day  tower!"  he  commanded. 
"We  are  going  to  Tin  Spout!  Keep  your  eye  peeled, 
Elmer." 

"Let's  go !"  cried  the  men,  tumbling  into  the  car.  Hang- 
ing on  for  dear  life  they  shouted  as  the  drive  toward  town 
began:  "Step  on  'er,  boss;  give  'er  the  gas!" 

Tarrant  drove  like  a  madman. 

All  eyes  were  turned  ahead,  straining  to  pierce  the  dark- 
ness. The  car  topped  a  rise.  The  Tin  Spout  field  at  the 
town  was  in  sight,  and  at  what  was  to  be  seen  there  Tar- 
,  rant's  men  cursed  as  one. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  167 

A  billowing  glare  of  flame  had  split  the  black  night 
ahead.  Tarrant  needed  no  one  to  tell  him  whence  the 
flame  came.  He  knew  the  location  of  every  derrick  and 
jack  and  tank  in  the  field  in  the  dark  and  there  could  be 
no  mistake :  the  flame  was  from  his  best  producing  well, 
which  was  the  well  nearest  to  Tin  Spout's  buildings. 

The  pumpman  met  him  as  he  drove  up  to  the  well,  and 
the  man's  head  was  bloody  and  his  face  white  with  anger. 

"Knocked  me  out  from  behind !"  he  roared.  "When  I 
came  to — they  had  used  dynamite!  Blew  the  jack  to 
hell!" 

"We  will  snuff  it !"  said  Tarrant.  "Get  me  a  couple  of 
sticks  of  dynamite.  Boys,  there's  a  coil  of  wire  cable  by 
the  engine  house ;  straighten  it  out  and  bring  it  here." 

He  fastened  the  dynamite  in  the  middle  of  the  long  wire 
cable  and  attached  a  short  fuse  and  cap.  Under  his  direc- 
tions the  men  picked  up  the  ends  of  the  cable,  drew  it  as 
taut  as  they  could,  and  walked  toward  the  fire.  The  cable 
was  of  sufficient  length  to  enable  the  men  at  each  end  to 
avoid  the  thick,  gaseous  flames  which  covered  the  site  of 
the  well. 

"Now — in  with  it,  boys!"  shouted  Tarrant. 

The  men  swung  the  cable  and  the  dynamite  went  into 
the  heart  of  the  fire.  Simultaneously  there  was  an  ex- 
plosion. The  solid  hood  of  flame  and  smoke  was  blown 
into  a  thousand  splattering  drops  of  fire,  but  still  the  fire 
in  the  well  burned.  Three  times  the  manceuver  was  re- 
peated in  vain,  but  at  the  fourth  attempt  the  explosion 
effectively  snuffed  out  every  vestige  of  fire. 

"Seal  it — seal,  it  quick,  boys !"  shouted  Tarrant. 

The  men  threw  themselves  at  the  task  and  it  was  soon 
done  and  the  well  sealed  against  danger  of  further  fire. 


168  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"Tarrant,"  panted  Buck,  "you're  an  oilman!" 
For  a  moment  they  stood,  panting,  scorched,  but  vic- 
torious, and  then  the  earth  trembled  with  the  force  of 
another  explosion. 

"Damn  'em !"  shrieked  Buck.    "They  got  the  tank !" 
The  storage  tank,  filled  with  crude  oil,  had  been  shat- 
tered by  a  charge  of  explosive,  and  its  contents,  spilling 
out  upon  the  ground,  almost  instantly  had  been  converted 
into  a  roaring,  leaping  river  of  liquid  fire. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

TF  they  want  that  game  they  can  have  it,"  cried  Tarrant. 
A  storage  tank  belonging  to  the  Syndicate  well  loomed 
up  in  the  darkness,  and  with  a  box  of  dynamite  under  his 
arm  and  a  burning  fuse  in  his  hand  he  ran  toward  it. 
"Stop !"  shouted  a  guard.    "Stop,  or  I'll  shoot !" 
"Shoot  and  be  damned!"  cried  Tarrant.     "There's  dy- 
namite enough  here  to  blow  us  both  to  bits !" 

The  guard  ran.  Tarrant  placed  his  charge  beneath  the 
tank  and  retreated  to  a  place  of  safety.  Again  the  earth 
quavered  like  jelly.  The  tank  leaped  into  the  air.  Great 
gouts  of  fire  spattered  the  landscape.  And  another  roar- 
ing river  of  fire  joined,  spread  itself  over  the  earth,  con- 
suming all  that  it  came  in  contact  with. 

"Even  so  far!"  shouted  Tarrant.    "Their  next  play!" 
"They  have  done  it !"  screamed  Buck,  placing  his  mouth 
close  to  Tarrant's  ear  to  make  himself  heard  above  the 
roaring  flame.     "They  have  pulled  the  cap  off  the  casing 
of  hell!    Look!" 

Tarrant's  storage  tank,  which  had  been  blown  up, 
stood  on  a  slight  slope  which  ran  directly  down  to  Tin 
Spout's  street  of  shacks.  The  burning  oil  following  the 
line  of  least  resistance,  had  rolled  down  the  slope,  hissing 
and  roaring  like  some  primordial  beast  bereft  of  its 
tongue,  a  ruthless  river  of  flame  which  there  was  no  dam- 
ming, no  resisting.  A  derrick  in  its  path  had  become  a 
colossal  beacon  which  lighted  up  the  scene;  a  tool  house 
was  swallowed  at  one  roaring  gulp.  The  oil  was  burning 
itself  out  as  it  went,  but  fiery  trickles,  racing  ahead  of  the 

169 


170  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

main  body,  had  reached  the  street  and  the  first  buildings 
already  were  afire. 

Tin  Spout  was  destined  to  be  a  feast  for  any  fire  that 
started  there.  Oil-soaked  timbers  lay  about  everywhere. 
There  were  even  pools  of  crude  oil  in  the  hollows.  And 
the  tinder-dry  wooden  buildings  of  the  town  stood  side  by 
side,  ready  to  burn  like  so  much  prepared  kindling. 

The  crackling  rivulets  of  oil  reached  three  separate 
buildings  simultaneously  and  in  a  moment  three  separate 
fires,  soon  to  be  blended  into  one,  were  raging  fiercely. 
The  shrieks  and  cries  of  human  beings  strove  in  vain  to 
pierce  the  steady  brawl  of  the  oil- fed  flames.  A  gasoline 
tank  blew  up.  Fat  blobs  of  fire  fell  upon  tinder-dry  roofs ; 
and  the  street  of  Tin  Spout  immediately  became  a  flame- 
illumined  bedlam. 

Tarrant  ran  swiftly  into  the  town.  More  gasoline  tanks 
were  blowing  up.  The  sudden  flares  had  the  effect  of  so 
many  explosions.  The  flash  and  roar  of  a  new  outburst 
illumined  and  stunned;  and  the  intervals  were  dark  by 
contrast,  though  the  destruction  of  everything  inflam- 
mable within  reach  of  the  flames  continued  steadily. 

"It's  hell !"  cried  a  man's  voice  thickly.  "It's  hell  and 
I'm  in  the  middle  of  it!" 

Tarrant  recognised  the  voice  and  the  figure  staggering 
aimlessly  about,  and  cried  out  as  he  sprang  forward. 

"Wayne!"  he  shouted.  He  caught  him  by  the  shirt 
front  and  shook  him  furiously.  "Where  is  Miss  Dickin- 
son ?  What  are  you  doing  here  without  your  wife  ?" 

Wayne  recognised  his  captor  and  shrieked  above  the 
roar  of  the  flames : 

"And  here's  the  devil  that  did  it !  Tarrant,  you're  the 
devil  that  turned  this  hell  loose,  you " 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  171 

"Wayne!"  cried  Tarrant.    "You're  drunk!" 

"Drunk?"  said  Wayne.  "No,  sir.  I'm  in  hell,  I  tell 
you — oh,  my  God!"  A  breath  of  sanity  blew  over  him. 
"Honey — honey — she's  still  back  there!" 

"Back  where!  Sober  up  or  I'll  smash  you.  Back 
where?" 

"Chili  Joe's  hotel.  I  forgot  all  about  her.  Honey  and 
Marjorie !  I " 

Tarrant  threw  him  to  one  side  and  ran  on.  A  man 
recognised  him. 

"You !"  he  shouted  threateningly.  "This  is  your 

doing!" 

Tarrant  struck  savagely  and  leaped  over  him.  Men 
were  pouring  out  of  Chili  Joe's  hotel  in  various  stages  of 
unarray,  while  others  were  making  a  futile  attempt  to 
save  the  building.  A  blob  of  burning  oil  fell  with  a  flop 
on  the  roof  and  the  dry  shingles  seemed  to  explode  in 
flame.  At  an  open  window  in  the  second  floor  appeared  a 
figure  in  white,  the  figure  of  a  woman,  her  ashen  face 
maddened  by  fright. 

"Mrs.  Wayne!"  whispered  someone.    "She's  gone!" 

The  woman  had  turned  back  from  the  window.  Tar- 
rant sprang  for  the  stairs  which  ran  up  the  side  of  the 
building,  and  half  a  dozen  men  sprang  with  him.  They 
jammed  at  the  first  step  and  a  heavy  elbow  jolted  him  be- 
neath the  ear. 

"Damn  you!  Go  first  then  if  you're  so  eager,"  said 
Tarrant ;  and  then  he  saw  that  the  man  was  Bodine. 

But  Bodine  did  not  follow  with  a  rush  up  the  stairs. 
He  halted  and  stood,  looking  up.  The  fat  light  of  the 
flames  was  upon  his  upturned  countenance,  and  his 
expression  had  suddenly  become  tigerish.  Tarrant  fol- 


172  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

lowed  the  direction  of  his  glance  and  stood  frozen.  A 
wave  of  humility  swept  over  him;  he  felt  abased,  un- 
worthy, as  if  he  were  committing  sacrilege  by  lifting  his 
eyes.  And  he  looked  away. 

Two  women  stood  on  the  top  stair  and  Mar j one  waa 
one  of  them.  The  flame  of  a  blazing  derrick  was  like  a 
sun  behind  her,  gleaming  lustrously  upon  her  hair,  glint- 
ing upon  the  sheen  of  her  silken  garment,  and  ruthlessly 
and  rosily  revealing  the  budding  girl  body  beneath  the 
sheer  silk  of  her  nightgown. 

Her  arms  were  full  of  clothes  which  she  had  not  had 
time  to  don,  for  Mrs.  Wayne  had  become  hysterical  with 
fright  and  Marjorie  had  been  forced  to  draw  her  to  safety 
with  no  delay.  The  fright-crazed  woman  had  clutched  at 
Marjorie  and  torn  her  gown,  and  the  girl's  rounded  vir- 
ginal shoulder  glowed  like  rosy  ivory  in  the  light  of  the 
dancing  flames.  The  shouts  of  the  men  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs  died  down  into  an  awed  silence.  Some  looked 
away,  some  stared,  and  a  curious  change  came  over  their 
faces;  one  or  two  fumblingly  removed  their  hats.  Bo- 
dine's  lips  parted.  His  eyes  feasted  gloatingly  upon  the 
spectacle  above  him,  and  the  look  of  a  drunkard  crept  into 
his  eyes.  He  gathered  himself  for  the  spring  upward. 
Then  the  flaming  derrick  fell  in  a  heap  and  the  stairway 
was  plunged  in  momentary  darkness.  The  moment  was 
busily  employed  by  Marjorie,  and  when  the  timbers  of 
the  fallen  derrick  again  flared  into  light  she  was  revealed 
arranged  in  a  hastily  donned  skirt  and  a  dressing  gown 
from  beneath  which  peeped  her  bare  feet  and  ankles. 

The  light  also  revealed  Tarrant  well  up  the  stairway, 
for  fearful  that  the  sudden  darkness  meant  disaster  he 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  173 

had  pushed  past  Bodine  and  groped  toward  the  two 
women. 

"Take  Mrs.  Wayne!"  cried  Marjorie. 

Tarrant  swept  the  hysterical  woman  off  her  feet  and 
carried  her  to  the  ground.  Wayne  was  waiting  there  and 
received  his  wife  while  Tarrant  turned  back  to  the  hotel. 

The  brief  moment  upon  the  stairs  had  been  fateful  to 
him.  The  light  and  his  lofty  position  both  had  made 
him  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes,  and  as  he  was  recognised  a 
medley  of  angry  cries  punctuated  the  roar  of  the  flames. 
Angry  men  surged  toward  him  threateningly.  Those  in 
the  rear  shook  their  fists  and  urged  the  others  on,  but 
those  nearest  the  foot  of  the  stairs  were  inclined  to  hang 
back,  for  Tarrant  had  turned  upon  them  and  he  was  not 
pleasant  to  face. 

Bodine  sought  to  mount  the  stairs  to  Marjorie,  but  the 
sudden  congestion  of  the  crowd  thwarted  him  and  he  was 
forced  against  the.  building  at  Tarrant's  side  and  held 
there  by  the  pressure  of  numbers.  The  destruction  of 
the  town  and  the  danger  from  the  flames  were  forgotten 
for  an  instant  by  the  raging  crowd.  It  had  ceased  for  the 
nonce  to  be  a  crowd  and  had  become  a  mob,  swayed  and 
driven  by  the  primitive,  brainless  savagery  which  is  called 
mob-spirit. 

"Lynch  him !"  howled  a  voice. 

And  other  voices  spoke  thus : 

"Get  him!    It's  Tarrant!" 

"He's  the  devil  that  did  this!" 

"Get  him  now !    He's  responsible  for  the  fire !" 

Promptly  upon  this  last  howl  a  clear,  sane  voice  rang 
out: 

"He  is  not!" 


174  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

Mar j one  had  stopped  halfway  down  the  stairs.  The 
flames  had  reached  the  top  of  the  stairway  now,  but  her 
countenance  as  she  bent  over  the  mob  revealed  no  fear, 
no  concern  for  herself,  only  an  expression  of  indignation 
at  a  false  accusation  and  injustice. 

"I  know  he  is  not  responsible!"  she  cried.  The  mob, 
being  brainless,  was  silenced  by  her  imperiousness. 

"I  know  who  is  responsible  for  the  fire!"  she  cried. 
"Shall  I  tell  what  I  know?" 

The  last  words  seemed  to  galvanise  Bodine  into  action. 

"Come,  come,  gentlemen !"  he  broke  out,  facing  the  mob 
leaders.  "We  can't  have  any  of  this." 

His  personality — the  personality  of  the  superpromoter 
— rose  to  the  occasion. 

"Nobody  is  responsible  for  the  fire,"  he  went  on.  Per- 
haps his  audience  stared  at  him  with  an  expression  of 
surprise,  but  his  personality  was  dominant.  "It  was  an 
act  of  Providence.  It  has  made  us  all  rich.  Go  away, 
gentlemen.  Don't  waste  any  more  time  here.  This  fire 
has  made  our  boom.  We  have  been  handed  a  million 
dollars'  worth  of  publicity  at  the  cost  of  a  few  thousand 
dollars'  worth  of  buildings.  A  million  dollars'  worth ! 
Think  of  it!  Priceless  publicity.  This  is  news.  Pub- 
licity of  the  kind  that  could  not  be  purchased.  It  is  what 
we  needed.  Tin  Spout  is  made!" 


CHAPTER  XXII 

fire  had  truly  come  like  a  gift  from  the  gods — 
or  the  devil — to  Bodine  and  his  associates  of  the 
Pan-National  Syndicate.  The  syndicate  had  not  foreseen 
the  extent  of  the  forces  it  had  loosed,  for  it  had  not  prop- 
erly estimated  Tarrant's  resources  nor  his  inclination  to 
prompt  and  violent  retaliation  when  attacked.  Bodine 
had  not  foreseen  the  burning  of  Tin  Spout.  When,  how- 
ever, the  burning  oil  from  Tarrant's  storage  tank  had 
trickled  down  the  slope  and  converted  what  was  to  have 
been  a  small  oil  well  fire  into  something  resembling  a 
holocaust,  the  promoter  promptly  envisioned  the  opportu- 
nity which  the  event  had  presented. 

While  Tin  Spout's  populace  was  running  fearfully  into 
the  street  he  was  planning  a  campaign  which  would  ade- 
quately utilise  the  potential  publicity  which  he  now  had 
in  his  grasp.  Marjorie's  sudden  declaration  in  Tarrant's 
defence  had  necessitated  a  premature  announcement  of 
the  golden  vision  which  had  unrolled  itself  to  him;  but 
even  while  his  hands  and  tongue  were  busy  dispersing  the 
mob  his  mind  was  active  with  the  elaboration  and  develop- 
ment of  the  campaign  he  had  instantly  planned. 

The  mob  was  dumbfounded.  The  promoter's  vision 
was  too  swift  for  it  to  follow.  Had  a  lesser  personality 
than  Bodine  sought  to  gloss  over  Marjorie's  outburst  with 
such  an  announcement  he  would  have  failed.  Bodine, 
however,  knew  he  would  not  fail.  This  degree  of  con- 
fidence was  part  of  his  equipment.  The  other  qualities 


176  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

of  the  successful  promoter,  the  supersalesman  who  thrives 
upon  the  feat  of  dazzling  his  fellow  beings  and  convincing 
them  that  it  is  advisable  to  give  him  their  money,  were 
his  in  no  lesser  degree,  and  as  he  exercised  them  there 
in  the  glare  of  the  burning  hotel  the  mob  spirit  was  shat- 
tered in  the  throng  before  him ;  it  became  a  loose  gathering 
of  rather  aimless  individuals,  and  Bodine,  mentally  occu- 
pied with  other  plans,  dazed  and  drove  them,  dispersed 
them  to  the  last  man. 

Tarrant  stood  grimly  watching  him,  and  despite  all  that 
had  gone  before  he  was  sensible  of  an  actual  admiration 
for  the  feat.  There  was  sufficient  similarity  between  the 
two  men  to  make  this  possible.  Tarrant,  too,  had  the 
big  man's  faculty  of  sinking  petty  considerations  when 
the  opportunity  of  accomplishment  presented  itself,  and 
he  could  admire  the  quality  in  another  man.  For  the 
nonce  he  forgot  the  rivalry  and  struggle  between  Bodine 
and  himself  and  saw  only  the  man's  capacity. 

"Bodine,"  he  drawled,  "you  sure  would  do  to  take 
along  if  you  were  straight." 

But  Bodine  was  too  exalted  by  his  vision  to  permit 
himself  to  descend  to  crass  personalities. 

"Get  in  on  it,  Tarrant !"  he  said  tensely.  "Let  bygones 
be  bygones.  This  fire  puts  us  on  the  map  in  red  letters." 

"What  kind  of  a  man  are  you?"  responded  Tarrant 
slowly.  "After  everything " 

"What's  all  that  got  to  do  with  business?"  snapped 
Bodine.  "It  is  a  good  business  for  the  Syndicate  to  have 
you  in  it.  It  is  good  business  for  you  to  be  in  the  Syn- 
dicate. You  are  a  business  man.  Don't  complicate  a  plain 
business  proposition  with — with  other  considerations." 

At  the  last  words  the  two  turned  as  if  by  instinct  to- 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  177 

ward  Marjorie.  She  was  gone.  Tarrant  ran  down  the 
street.  By  the  light  of  a  burning  building  he  saw  her 
helping  Wayne  place  Mrs.  Wayne  in  a  service  car,  and 
he  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  when  the  car,  bearing  the  two 
and  Marjorie  rolled  away  from  the  burning  hamlet — and 
Bodine. 

Bodine  had  had  his  answer.  He  wasted  no  more 
time  on  Tarrant.  To  do  him  justice  he  wasted  no  more 
thought  upon  him,  nor  upon  himself,  nor  any  considera- 
tion that  was  not  directly  connected  with  the  exploitation 
of  the  present  opportunity. 

A  pair  of  men  with  a  wet  tarpaulin  were  guarding  the 
box  car  which  served  as  the  railroad  station.  When  a 
blot  of  burning  oil  fell  upon  the  roof  they  sprang  up  a 
ladder  and  smothered  the  flames  with  the  tarpaulin.  When 
flying  embers  alighted  against  the  walls  they  slid  down 
from  their  perch  and  performed  again.  Meanwhile  they 
commented  upon  the  destruction. 

"There  goes  the  church." 

"Let  'er  go." 

"Lafe's  garage  is  a  cinder/' 

"Serves  him  right." 

"Pool  parlor's  done  for." 

"Gosh !    Hope  they  got  the  liquor  out.'1 

"Chili  Joe's  is  done  for." 

"It  is?  Where  we  going  to  get  breakfast  to-morrow 
morning?" 

There  were  charred  holes  in  the  roof  and  walls  of  the 
box  car  and  cinders  were  sifting  in  when  Bodine  arrived, 
but  the  telephone  and  the  telegraph  were  intact  and  the 
operator  was  present,  and  Bodine  went  to  work  without 
the  delay  of  a  moment  or  the  loss  of  any  waste  motion. 


178  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

The  day  before  Tin  Spout  had  been  only  an  insignificant 
hamlet  in  the  midst  of  a  rather  poor  little  oil  field.  So 
far  as  the  great  public  was  concerned  it  did  not  exist  at 
all.  But  next  morning  it  existed.  It  had  been  created 
overnight.  The  people  of  the  land  now  knew  about  it. 
They  knew  it  was  a  rich  oil  town.  They  knew  it  was  the 
centre  of  a  rich  oil  field.  They  knew  all  this  because  the 
type  in  the  morning  papers  told  them  so,  and  the  people 
believed  that  newspaper  publication  creates  a  fact. 

MILLION  DOLLAR  OIL  WELL  BURNS  AT  TIN  SPOUT, 
TEXAS 

SKIES  AFLAME  AS  OIL  WELL  BURNS.    TIN  SPOUT, 
TEXAS,  TREATED  TO  RARE  SPECTACLE 

OCEAN  OF  FLAMING  OIL  FLOWS  IN  STREETS  OF 
TIN  SPOUT,  TEXAS 

The  heads  under  which  the  story  appeared  in  the  reg- 
ular press  next  morning  were  too  numerous  and  varied 
to  be  represented  by  a  selection.  It  was  legitimate  news. 
In  the  less  regular  press,  in  the  oil  papers  and  in  those 
in  a  particular  receptive  mood  toward  the  type  of  adver- 
tisements which,  by  some  coincidence,  the  Pan-National 
Syndicate  generously  ordered  by  wire  or  phone  that  same 
night,  the  headlines  were  inclined  to  be  slightly  more 
specific: 

PAN-NATIONAL  SYNDICATE  OIL  PROPERTIES  OVERFLOW 
IN  TIN  SPOUT  MIRACLE  FIELD 

INCOMPARABLE  BONANZA  OF  PAN-NATIONAL  OIL  LEASES 
REVEALED  BY  SPECTACULAR  OIL  FIRE 

There  were  tangles  of  charred  timbers  and  piles  of 
ashes  smoldering  beneath  the  Texas  sun  next  morning; 


Tar  rant  of  Tin  Spout  179 

but  in  the  mind  of  the  American  public  that  morning  was 
a  different  picture,  a  picture  which  created  a  mental  condi- 
tion whereby  the  three  words,  "Tin  Spout,  Texas,"  in- 
stantly suggested,  "Riches  in  Oil." 

In  strict  accuracy  there  was  more  than  a  condition  of 
material  destruction  at  Tin  Spout  next  morning.  The 
spirit  of  the  American  was  flaming  there  as  brightly  as 
in  more  favored  settings.  Men  had  taken  the  fire  in  va- 
rious ways  when  it  struck,  but  there  had  been  no  impotent 
wailing  against  fate,  no  sunken  head  was  bowed  in  de- 
feated hands,  no  fists  futilely  shaken  at  heaven  on  high. 

The  garage  was  an  early  victim  of  the  exploding  gaso- 
line tank,  but  fortunately  one  of  the  cars  was  outside 
beyond  reach  of  the  flames,  and  even  while  the  walls  of 
his  shop  were  falling  in  the  proprietor  was  occupied  in 
assuring  himself  that  the  saved  car  had  a  full  supply  of 
fuel.  His  foresight  was  based  upon  an  appreciation  of 
his  fellow  townsmen's  spirit.  Chili  Joe  lost  a  hotel  and 
eating  house,  and  while  the  walls  were  falling  in  Joe  was 
bargaining  with  the  owner  of  a  truck  for  a  flying  trip 
after  a  tent  and  cots  and  supplies. 

"I  was  figuring  on  enlarging,  anyway,"  said  the  owner 
of  the  grocery  store  as  he  watched  it  go  up  in  flames. 
"Lafe,  save  me  a  seat  in  your  car,  because  I  want  to  go 
get  me  a  new  stock." 

"Let's  go!"  said  Lafe. 

While  the  buildings  were  still  burning  brightly  his  car 
bore  a  load  of  ruined  men  to  the  nearest  point  where  food 
and  building  material  and  other  emergency  supplies  could 
be  secured.  When  daylight  appeared  and  revealed  the 
trucks  arriving,  laden  with  carpenters  and  lumber  and 


180  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

supplies,  sleepless  citizens  were  waiting  impatiently  for 
the  ashes  to  cool  so  they  could  begin  to  rebuild,  and  Chili 
Joe  had  an  oil  stove  burning  in  the  oven  and  was  dispens- 
ing coffee  and  sandwiches  at  one  dollar  the  order. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

TiTARJORIE'S  dramatic  outburst  in  Tarrant's  defence 
•*-v*  had  come  without  premeditation  or  intent.  It  was 
one  of  those  spontaneous  assertions  of  instinct  which,  hav- 
ing occurred,  leave  one  startled  and  amazed;  and  this  was 
the  mood  in  which  she  found  herself  while  driving  away 
from  the  holocaust  of  Tin  Spout.  The  fire  seemed  to  her 
the  inevitable  product  of  the  atmosphere  of  rivalry,  of 
greed  and  ruthlessness  which  prevailed  about  her.  As  the 
fulminations  of  an  electrically  charged  thunder-sky  result 
in  the  explosion  of  lightning  and  the  crash  of  thunder  so 
the  conflict  of  emotions  which  seethed  about  her  seemed 
logical  to  produce  a  climax  like  the  fire.  Her  tortured  emo- 
tions— the  virginal  emotions  of  girlhood  cruelly  subjected 
to  violent  impressions — had  wrought  her  up  to  a  pitch 
in  which  her  constant  sensation  was  that  something  must 
burst.  By  day  she  watched  apprehensively  for  warning 
of  the  cataclysm,  studying  her  father  and  Bodine,  and 
listening  eagerly  to  their  most  casual  words.  At  night  she 
tossed  sleeplessly,  oppressed  by  the  sense  of  an  unseen 
menace.  The  heat  at  Tin  Spout  now  was  approaching 
its  summer  vehemence.  The  shoddily  built  frame  hotel 
was  like  an  oven,  and  the  heat  at  night  in  the  small  room 
rendered  even  a  light  nightgown  oppressive.  The  babble 
about  the  place  and  in  the  street  outside  never  ceased  be- 
fore early  morning,  and  Marjorie  closing  door  and  win- 
dow and  turning  out  the  light  in  an  effort  to  achieve  rest, 
would  lie  stretched  out  upon  her  bed,  a  tense,  slender  fig- 
ure with  wide-awake  eyes. 

181 


1 82  Tar  rant  of  Tin  Spout 

The  outbreak  of  the  fire  at  Tarrant's  well  had  come  as 
the  solution  of  a  problem.  In  a  flash  she  understood :  this 
was  how  the  Syndicate  planned  to  clear  the  field!  She 
had  cowered  in  her  darkened  room  until  the  swiftly 
spreading  fire  had  reached  the  hotel.  Then  had  come  the 
necessity  of  rescuing  the  half-crazed  Mrs.  Wayne,  and 
after  that  came  her  spontaneous  declaration  upon  the 
stairs. 

Now  the  great  moment  was  over.  She  sank  back  in 
the  service  car  that  bore  her  and  the  Wayne's  toward 
Ranger  Falls  in  a  dazed  and  wondering  frame  of  mind. 
Automatically  she  petted  and  assured  the  hysterical 
woman  at  her  side,  but  her  consciousness  was  far  afield. 
What  had  she  done  ?  Why  had  she  done  it  ?  What  would 
be  the  consequence  ? 

Her  memory  flashed  back  to  the  burning  hotel  and  she 
lived  the  moment  over  again.  She  was  again  upon  the 
stairway,  the  flaming  derrick  at  her  back.  And  for  the 
moment  she  was  quite  unconscious  of  her  lack  of  apparel 
— but  for  the  moment  only.  Now  Bodine's  eyes  were 
upon  her.  The  red  flames  reflecting  upon  them ;  his  eyes 
were  red,  red  and  burning  and  hungry.  They  stripped 
her.  They  seemed  to  devour  her  nude  body.  She  threw 
herself  back  convulsively  in  the  seat. 

"Oh,  my  God!"  she  murmured. 

"Don't  weaken,  kid,"  adjured  the  driver  with  gruff 
sympathy.  "I'll  have  you  with  your  father  in  no  time. 
Then  you'll  be  O.  K." 

"Yes,"  said  Marjorie,  and  she  controlled  an  impulse  to 
laugh  wildly. 

Dr.  Dickinson  had  remained  in  Ranger  Falls  that  night 
in  order  not  to  miss  any  time  from  the  Oil  Exchange,  and 


Tar  rant  of  Tin  Spout  183 

by  the  time  Marjorie  and  the  Waynes  arrived  he  had  re- 
ceived over  the  telephone  the  story  of  the  fateful  evening 
at  Tin  Spout,  including  Marjorie's  outburst  in  Tarrant's 
defence.  As  a  consequence  his  gratitude  at  beholding  her 
safe  and  unharmed  was  qualified  with  a  degree  of  nervous 
reproach. 

"I  don't  understand  you,  Marjorie,"  he  protested.  "I 
try  to  do  my  best  for  you  and  you  seem  inclined  to  run 
contrary  to  my  interests — your  own  interests,  I  mean. 
After  that  ruffian's  offensive  conduct  toward  you  I  should 
think  you  would  be  the  last  person  in  the  world  to  defend 
him.  He  is  a  trouble  maker ;  he's  always  making  trouble. 
He  is  responsible  for  that  fire " 

"Father!" 

"He  is !"  he  affirmed.  "If  he  hadn't  been  the  ruffianly 
troublemaker  that  he  is  there  would  have  been  no  fire. 
I  thought  I  could  trust  you  or  I  would  never  have  taken 
you  into  my  confidence,  Marjorie,  I'm  terribly  disap- 
pointed in  you."  He  turned  upon  her  doggedly,  "Why 
did  you  defend  this  ruffian  ?  What  will  Mr.  Bodine  think? 
Great  Heavens,  Marjorie!  Bodine  is  about  to  make  Tin 
Spout  a  boom  town  and  my  fortune — our  fortune — is 
made,  if  he  favours  me.  In  a  few  weeks  that  brute  Tar- 
rant  will  be  gone  and  forgotten  and  Mr.  Bodine  will  be 
the  biggest  man  here.  Think  of  the  man's  brilliance,  to 
convert  this  catastrophe  into  a  blessing!  Think  of  the 
boon  he  confers  on  Tin  Spout !  There's  nobody  like  him, 
Marjorie,  nobody  like  Bodine.  You  will  see  that  clearly 

in  time." 

i 

"I  don't  want  to  go  back  there,"  burst  forth  Marjorie 
irrelevantly. 

"To  Tin  Spout?"    Dr.  Dickinson  debated  a  moment, 


184  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

then  nodded  agreeably.  "Quite  right,  Marjorie.  It  won't 
be  the  sort  of  a  place  I'd  like  my  little  girl  to  be  in  just 
at  present.  We  will  stay  here  until  Mr.  Bodine  comes 
with  word  that  the  field  is  clear." 

Marjorie  was  grateful  that  he  did  not  insist  upon  a 
reply  to  his  question  of  why  she  had  cried  out  in  Tar- 
rant's  defence,  as  she  would  have  been  at  loss  to  answer. 
Why  had  she  done  it?  She  was  incessantly  asking  herself 
the  question  now  that  she  could  consider  her  action  in 
retrospect.  The  deed  had  been  wrung  from  her;  her 
words  were  as  spontaneous  as  any  cry  of  instinct.  Did 
she  really  care  so  much  for  fair  play  that  she  was  hurt 
at  the  thought  of  Tarrant's  enterprise  being  crushed  by 
the  Syndicate?  Nonsense!  She  did  not  give  two  pins 
for  any  business,  or  business  methods.  She  didn't  care 
for  anything,  she  thought.  Life  was  too  brutal.  Before 
her  eyes  rose  a  picture  of  the  holocaust,  and  from  the 
billowing  flames  Bodine's  eyes  shone  upon  her  with  the 
look  in  them  that  made  her  shrink  and  feel  helpless  and 
afraid.  The  spirit  which  had  emboldened  her  for  a  mo- 
ment on  the  burning  stairs  was  gone.  She  felt  that  she 
was  groping  in  a  world  of  darkness,  and  she  felt  hands 
reaching  out  toward  her;  but  none  of  them  offered  Love. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A  |  AHE  Tin  Spout  boom  truly  began  with  the  arrival  of 
•*•  the  first  newspapers,  for  only  then,  as  they  noted 
the  black  headlines  and  perused  the  descriptions  of  the 
fire  did  the  citizens  truly  envisage  the  potential  position 
of  the  town  they  were  about  to  rebuild.  As  a  consequence 
the  building  plans  which  they  had  formulated  so  swiftly 
were  promptly  discarded  or  enlarged  upon.  The  boom 
was  in  swing  within  the  hour  after  the  newspapers  were 
in  hand,  its  primary  manifestation  being  represented  by 
the  activity  of  real-estate  speculators  seeking  to  corner 
building  lots  on  Main  Street.  But  there  were  few  sellers 
now,  even  though  the  lots  were  heaped  with  smoking 
timbers  and  ashes.  Men  might  be  ruined,  they  might  be 
ragged  and  hungry,  but  they  refused  rich  offers  for  their 
lots  with  scorn. 

The  Tin  Spout  that  rose  from  the  scarcely  cooled  ashes 
was  an  effort  to  approximate  the  position  which  had  been 
created  for  it.  A  new  wonder  town  of  oildom,  an  oil 
metropolis  in  a  miracle  field,  could  scarcely  live  up  to  its 
role  if  it  contented  itself  with  a  few  hastily  built  shacks. 
A  concrete  block-moulding  machine  was  on  the  way  to 
the  site  of  the  hotel  before  the  ruins  had  been  removed, 
and  a  hostelry  adequate  to  the  demands  of  the  new  day, 
and  being  constructed  of  concrete  blocks  it  called  itself 
fireproof,  rose  as  an  example  for  builders  to  follow. 
Above  the  box-car  station  rose  a  vast  sign  of  muslin  bear- 
ing the  words : 

185 


186  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

ROME  WAS  NOT  BUILT  IN  A  DAY — TIN  SPOUT  WAS  ! 

Having  thus  administered  its  rebuke  to  older  and  slower 
civilisations,  Tin  Spout  was  ready  for  business. 

Business  arrived  in  vehicles  of  all  kinds  in  addition  to 
the  trains.  Many  of  the  arrivals  were  from  near-by  fields, 
but  in  the  rush  which  now  developed  there  were  few 
states  and  no  large  cities  which  were  not  represented. 
Similarly  there  were  few  classes  or  divisions  of  our  popu- 
lation which  failed  of  representation.  Eastern  financiers 
rode  in  on  the  same  train  as  Western  gamblers,  and  West- 
ern capitalists  with  Eastern  thugs.  Those  modern  Ameri- 
can pioneers,  Nick  Sainopopulus,  restaurant  keeper,  and  A. 
Nathan,  gents'  clothing,  were  soon  among  those  present. 
A  Salvation  Army  trio  held  successful  meetings  every 
night,  and  Arkansaw,  the  gambler,  came  up  from  Ranger 
Falls  and  opened  a  "room."  He,  also,  met  with  success. 

A  young  genius  erected  a  wire  corral,  filled  it  with 
army  tents  and  cots,  and  put  up  a  sign :  "Hotel."  In  its 
time  this  hotel  housed,  if  the  term  is  permissible,  writers 
seeking  material,  roughnecks  seeking  employment  and 
promoters  seeking  graft.  Capitalists  with  millions  at 
their  call  and  sneak  thieves  at  their  work  slept  on  those 
cots.  It  was  not  a  safe  place.  Experienced  men  placed 
their  money  and  valuables  out  of  sight  and  reach  upon 
retiring  and  slept  on  their  shoes  if  they  were  so  finicky 
as  to  remove  them.  Less  experienced  men  were  apt  to 
wake  in  the  morning  to  cry  out  to  a  contemptuous  audi- 
ence that  they  had  been  robbed. 

A  hundred  service  cars  took  up  their  stand  at  Tin  Spout, 
and  50  per  cent  of  their  drivers  were  bootleggers;  and 
a  dozen  ' 'high- j ackers"  lived  off  them,  holding  them  up 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  187 

on  lone  roads  and  robbing  the  drivers  and  passengers. 
And  everybody  seemed  to  have  money  and  to  be  on  the 
way  to  making  more.  Failure  was  unknown.  Naturally 
many  failures  must  have  occurred,  but  they  were  not 
known.  The  smothering  Texas  summer  air  was  sur- 
charged to  the  drugging  point  with  the  potent  intoxicant — 
"Boom."  The  mood  of  optimism  mounted  to  the  verge 
of  insanity.  Men  were  drunk  upon  it.  There  was  no 
other  mood  to  be  found. 

"She's  another  boom  town,"  said  Elmer,  "and  boom 
towns  are  hell  and  corruption  naturally,  but,  by  heaven, 
they  are  alive!" 

Tarrant's  bewilderment  at  Marjorie's  outburst  in  his 
defence  was  too  complete  for  him  to  attempt  to  realise 
the  significance  of  her  act.  The  scene  had  burned  itself 
into  his  mind  to  remain  for  life  a  vivid  memory.  It  was 
like  a  dream  to  him,  at  times,  terrible  in  its  drama  and 
beauty.  He  saw  her  again  and  again  as  a  spirit  which 
rose  above  the  sordidness  of  the  oil  town,  and  was  un- 
touched by  its  madness  or  its  destruction.  He  could  ap- 
preciate her  thus.  It  was  when  he  came  down  to  earth 
and  attempted  to  comprehend  her  action  and  words  that 
he  was  all  at  sea.  Yet  he  was  too  hard-headed  not  to 
appreciate  that  these  were  of  greatest  importance  to  him 
in  his  present  situation.  Bodine  had  obviously  been 
alarmed  when  the  girl  cried  out: 

"Shall  I  tell  what  I  know?" 

What  did  she  know?  What  secret  did  she  possess 
that  made  Bodine  spring  so  suddenly  to  the  fore  and  take 
action  to  prevent  her  from  saying  more?  Was  she  on 
such  close  terms  that  the  promoter  had  taken  her  into  his 


i88  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

confidence  to  the  extent  of  confiding  to  her  dangerous 
secrets?  If  so,  why  should  she  come  to  the  defence  of 
him,  Bodine's  rival  and  competitor?  Tarrant  gave  it  up. 
The  call  of  his  duties  was  too  insistent  to  permit  him  to 
waste  any  time  or  thought  upon  his  personal  affairs,  how- 
ever vital  they  might  be  to  himself. 

Bodine's  promptness  in  envisioning  and  seizing  opportu- 
nity in  the  midst  of  the  fire  and  turmoil  of  that  terrible 
night  had  opened  Tarrant's  eyes  to  the  calibre  of  the  man 
he  was  fighting.  Unless  he  was  to  be  swallowed  up  in  the 
tidal  wave  of  the  boom  which  the  Syndicate  was  engineer- 
ing and  controlling  he  must  key  himself  up  to  greater 
endeavors.  By  all  means  he  must  keep  his  producing  wells 
in  operation.  The  monthly  checks  from  the  pipe-line 
company  now  had  become  the  lifeblood  of  his  enterprise. 

Normally  he  had  been  able  to  attract  sufficient  local 
capital  to  further  his  developments.  Now  the  Syndicate 
was  absorbing  all  such  capital.  For  so  long  as  the  boom 
lasted  Bodine  and  his  associates  would  largely  control  the 
money  market.  Tarrant  knew  he  would  be  an  outsider. 
By  maintaining  the  settled  production  of  his  well  he  would 
be  able  to  continue  drilling  the  wildcat.  If  he  struck  oil 
in  the  deep  sand  which  his  faith  told  him  lay  somewhere 
in  the  earth,  all  might  be  well.  If  he  brought  in  a  duster — 
but  Tarrant  was  of  too  sanguine  a  disposition  to  admit 
that  any  disaster  could  spell  complete  defeat. 

Taking  his  clew  from  the  night  raids  on  his  properties, 
he  at  once  added  more  men  to  his  pay  roll  whose  appear- 
ance caused  the  knowing  ones  of  the  oil  field  no  little 
perturbation.  Some  of  them  came  from  near-by  fields, 
some  from  far  away;  some  had  worn  officer's  stars  and 
some  had  been  pursued  by  officers.  There  were  plenty 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  189 

of  them  to  be  found,  men  who  would  rather  fight  than 
work,  and  who  sold  themselves  and  their  loyalty  as  a 
matter  of  course.  Had  circumstances  placed  them  upon 
the  Syndicate  pay  roll  they  would  have  opposed  Tarrant 
with  the  same  unreasoning  grimness  with  which  they  now 
guarded  his  properties.  They  guarded  the  storage  tanks, 
the  pumping  station,  the  jacks  and  the  new  test  well. 
On  their  time  off  they  went  into  Tin  Spout  and  added 
their  bit  to  the  note  of  tension  and  disorder  which  day 
by  day  was  rising  there,  and  in  the  camp  where  they  were 
quartered  they  fought  among  themselves  as  a  matter  of 
course. 

Tarrant  had  thrown  himself  into  the  fight  so  com- 
pletely that  he  had  few  thoughts  for  anything  else.  The 
very  viciousness  of  the  situation  absorbed  him  as  it  did 
everyone  else  who  came  in  contact  with  it.  He  saw  him- 
self, his  men,  the  opposition  and  every  man  in  the  field 
caught  in  a  maelstrom  of  madness  brewed  by  the  wealth 
inherent  in  the  evil-smelling  liquid  gold.  After  would 
come  peace  and  sanity,  but  while  the  whirlpool  was  raging 
men  succumbed  to  the  greed  and  the  fighting  qualities 
which  the  opportunity  for  sudden  wealth  invariably  brings 
forth. 

He  seldom  trusted  himself  to  think  of  Marjorie.  The 
vision  of  her  on  the  stairs  the  mad  night  of  the  fire  had 
enshrined  her  in  his  memory.  He  had  placed  her  upon  a 
pedestal.  He  felt  the  struggle  into  which  he  had  plunged 
himself  had  sullied  him  to  an  extent  that  made  vain  his 
old  hopes  toward  her.  The  mad  moment  in  which  he 
had  clasped  her  to  his  breast  and  the  scene  at  the  Country 
Club  were  the  pictures  that  rose  in  his  mind  when  he 
thought  of  her.  The  pictures  burned.  So  she  must  see 


190  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

him — how  otherwise?  Brutal,  ruthless,  quarrelsome. 
Youthlike  he  reveled  in  his  self-condemnation.  The  fact 
that  she  had  defended  him  in  the  face  of  the  mob  lost  the 
significance  that  it  might  have  had.  The  oil  game  was 
mastering  him,  and  he  did  his  best  to  forget  the  hopes 
and  aspirations  which  she  had  awakened.  He  did  not  see 
her  again  for  some  time. 

It  was  Wayne  who  was  responsible  for  their  next  meet- 
ing. He  came  to  Tarrant's  shack  one  night  long  after 
midnight  and  knocked  at  the  door.  Tarrant  arose  and 
turned  on  the  light,  and  after  one  look  at  his  visitor's  face 
invited  him  in.  Wayne  was  sober.  His  face  was  white 
and  drawn  and  his  body  seemed  shrunken,  but  his  eyes 
were  calm  and  clear  of  blood,  and  his  manner  was  quiet, 
even  subdued.  He  sat  on  the  edge  of  a  chair  and  looked 
at  the  floor. 

"Spence,  can  you  lend  me  five  hundred  dollars?"  he 
began.  "I've  got  to  send  my  wife  north  for  the  hot 
weather.  She  had  a  sort  of  breakdown  after  the  fire,  and 
it  would  be  too  tough  to  ask  her  to  stay  here  in  the  sum- 
mer. Her  folks  live  up  in  Michigan.  If  I  can  get  her 
up  there,"  he  concluded,  "she'll  be  all  right — she'll  be  all 
right." 

Tarrant  was  too  astonished  to  speak  for  some  time. 
"You  know  it,  boy,"  he  said  finally.  "You  can  have  any- 
thing I  have  got  if  you  need  it." 

"I  know  it,  Spence,"  responded  Wayne  in  his  subdued 
monotone.  "I  knew  you  would  help  a  fellow  in  spite  of — 
of  things;  and  that's  why  I  came  to  you." 

Again  there  was  a  silence. 

"I  suppose  you  are  wondering  how  come  I  need  to  bor- 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  191 

row  five  hundred  dollars,  aren't  you,  Spence?"  said 
Wayne. 

"We  all  get  short  at  times,"  replied  Tarrant  evasively. 
"I've  been  down  to  where  I  had  to  make  a  touch  for  a  ten 
spot." 

Wayne  wet  his  lips  with  the  tip  of  his  tongue. 

"I'm  flat,"  he  said  hopelessly.  "I'm  cleaned  out  of  every 
dollar  I  had,  and  I  have  borrowed  ten  thousand  from  the 
bank  that  I  can't  repay.  I  wasn't  satisfied  to  wait.  The 
game  got  me.  Bodine  said  Pan-National  was  sure  to 
jump  after  the  fire.  I  put  up  every  dollar  I  could  scrape 
together  on  margins  trying  to  run  a  corner.  Somebody 
dumped  a  block  of  shares  on  the  market  and  the  stock 
dropped  until  I  was  wiped  out.  Wiped  out  clean.  It  was 
my  fault.  I  must  have  been  crazy.  The  damn  oil  turned 
my  head.  It  got  me.  It  gets  everybody  that  touches  it. 

"It  has  got  Dickinson.  He  has  put  every  cent  of  his 
money  into  oil  shares  and  they  are  boarding  at  the  Deaf 
Hemps  because  it's  cheap,  so  Dickinson  can  have  more 
money  to  play  the  Exchange.  I  want  to  get  my  wife  out 
of  it  as  soon  as  I  can — on  the  morning  train.  Can  you 
let  me  have  that  to-night,  Spence?  Arkansaw  will  cash 
your  check." 

He  took  the  check  which  Tarrant  wrote,  and  shook 
hands.  His  fingers  clung  nervously  in  the  grip  as  if  re- 
luctant to  let  go,  and  it  was  apparent  that  he  was  striving 
to  express  himself;  but  the  words  would  not  come,  and 
with  a  final  grip  of  the  hand  he  turned  and  went  out  into 
the  night. 

The  remainder  of  Wayne's  story  came  to  Tarrant  from 
the  lips  of  Arkansaw,  the  gambler,  who  sought  him  out 
at  daybreak  two  mornings  later: 


192  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"He  came  to  me  with  your  check  and  asked  if  I  would 
cash  it  so  he  could  send  his  wife  north  on  the  morning 
train,"  said  the  gambler,  "and  I  see  he  was  cold  sober  and 
I  said,  sure,  if  he  was  promising  that  was  what  he  was 
going  to  use  it  for.  He  looked  right  smart,  best  I've  seen 
him  looking  all  spring.  He  shook  hands  and  says,  'Ar- 
kansaw,  you're  a  good  fellow,'  and  I  thought  that  was 
right  odd  at  the  time  but  I  done  forgot  it.  Sure  'nough 
he  did  send  his  wife  north  next  morning,  and  they  tell  me 
they  looked  right  happy,  both  of  them. 

"Soon  as  he  see  the  train  was  heading  for  the  Red  River 
what  does  he  do  but  go  and  hang  up  his  diamond  pin  for 
a  hundred  dollars.  And  he  hits  for  the  Country  Club. 
He  cuts  loose  considerable,  but  they  tell  me  his  liquor 
don't  touch  him.  Last  night  about  one  o'clock  a  news- 
paper man  out  there  asks  him  if  he  knows  any  news  and 
Wayne  says  he  sure  does  and  they'll  hear  about  the  gusher 
he's  going  to  bring  in  before  the  morning.  The  last  any- 
one sees  him  alive  he's  walking  out  to  get  the  air,  he  says, 
and  pretty  soon  they  hear  the  shot  and  when  they  get  to 
him  Wayne  has  cashed  in." 


the  many  varied  types  that  had  come  to  Tin 
Spout  with  the  rush  that  followed  upon  the  fire,  none 
arrived  with  a  stranger  history  or  for  a  more  fantastic 
purpose  than  the  old  couple  known  as  the  Deaf  Hemps. 
Perhaps  among  the  many  stories  of  unhappiness  which 
the  boom  gave  birth  to  more  could  be  found  with  deeper 
pathos  than  theirs. 

The  Deaf  Hemps  were  man  and  wife,  both  in  the  sixties. 
The  nickname  which  they  bore  was  deceptive.  Neither 
suffered  from  the  slightest  difficulty  in  hearing.  In  the 
long,  barren  years  when  the  two  were  making  a  complete 
failure  of  farming  and  stock  raising  on  their  ranch  out- 
side of  Ranger  Falls,  their  debts  had  accumulated  until 
they  owed  something  to  practically  everyone  in  that 
region.  Creditors  shouted  at  them  as  they  drove  along 
the  road.  Creditors  besieged  them  at  the  ranch  and  upon 
their  rare  visits  to  town.  Then  it  was  that  the  Hemps 
simultaneously  developed  deafness  to  an  extent  which 
caused  the  creditors'  objurgations  to  go  unheeded.  Year 
after  year  the  Hemps  starved  on  their  hopeless  acres,  their 
lives  slowly  withering  away  toward  a  painful  end — and 
then  the  oilmen  came. 

Now  it  was  no  case  of  deafness  that  made  the  old 
Hemps  pathetic.  Their  trouble  was  that  they  were  mil- 
lionaires. 

The  barren  ranch  land  upon  which  cattle  had  starved 
and  crops  withered  away  had  hidden  one  of  the  richest 

193 


194  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

pools  in  the  Ranger  Falls  field.  A  forest  of  derricks 
sprouted  upon  it.  Gushers  were  brought  in  that  yielded 
a  small  fortune  each  week,  and  one-eighth  of  the  golden 
flood  went  to  the  owners  of  the  land.  Without  stirring 
a  ringer  beyond  signing  leases  and  receipts  for  bonus 
money  the  old  couple  had  come  into  an  income  of  a 
quarter  million  a  year,  and  as  a  consequence  they  were 
woefully,  pitifully  unhappy. 

The  flood  of  wealth  had  come  too  late.  Their  day  for 
appreciating  what  money  may  bring  was  past.  They 
could  not  even  enjoy  the  leisure  which  had  been  thrust 
upon  them.  Moving  into  Ranger  Falls  they  had  sat  with 
idle,  gnarled  hands,  knowing  not  what  to  do.  The  Tin 
Spout  boom  and  the  consequent  demand  for  rooms  and 
meals  had  been  a  greater  godsend  to  them  than  their 
wealth.  The  Hemps  rented  a  house  at  Tin  Spout  and  took 
in  boarders. 

"Folks  say  we're  foolish  for  doing  this,"  said  Mrs. 
Hemp,  "but  I  dunno;  as  I  say  to  pa,  you  never  can  tell 
what's  going  to  happen  and  I  certainly  do  believe  in  put- 
ting something  by  for  a  rainy  day  while  you  got  the 
chance." 

Marjorie  and  her  father  were  boarding  at  the  Hemps', 
and  it  was  there  Tarrant  went  to  see  her.  The  recent 
tragedy  seemed  to  have  given  him  a  clearer  vision  of  the 
terrible  power  of  the  game  he  was  playing.  In  a  few 
short  weeks  he  had  seen  it  alter  Wayne  from  a  young, 
cheerful  operator,  with  life  and  optimism  running  fresh 
in  his  veins,  to  a  hopeless  -wreck  who  saw  only  one  way 
out  of  the  morass  into  which  the  game  had  plunged  him. 
He  had  seen  his  own  friends  become  his  enemies.  Dickin- 
son he  had  seen  maddened  by  the  lure  of  wealth  which 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  195 

Bodine  dangled  before  his  eyes.  And  the  game  was 
growing  wilder,  more  intense,  more  fatal. 

He  had  chosen  his  time  well  and  came  upon  Marjorie 
as  she  sat  reading  in  the  Hemps'  parlor.  There  was  no 
greeting  between  them.  She  saw  he  had  come  with  a 
definite  purpose  and  looked  up  waiting  for  him  to  ex- 
plain. As  he  looked  at  her  he  was  glad  he  had  come,  and 
the  purport  of  his  errand  broke  from  him  in  a  steady 
torrent  of  words. 

"You  will  say  I  am  presumptuous,  Miss  Dickinson," 
said  he.  "That  doesn't  matter.  You  should  not  remain 
in  Tin  Spout.  It  is  no  place  for  you.  Go  home.  You 
don't  belong  here.  It's  going  to  get  wild  and  rough. 
You  don't  know  what  an  oil  town  can  be.  There's  some- 
thing in  an  oil  boom  that  makes  men  mad.  I  suppose  it's 
the  gold  that  is  in  it.  Men  scramble  for  that  gold;  they 
fight  and  steal,  and  go  after  it  regardless.  A  few  get  it — 
it's  always  that  way — and  the  rest  of  the  crowd  hangs 
round  them  like  a  flock  of  hungry  wolves  round  a  bunch 
of  fat  cattle.  Men  and  women.  They  can't  make  money, 
so  they  come  to  take  it  away  from  those  who  can. 

"They  are  not  smooth  or  gentle  parasites,  either.  Look 
at  the  faces  of  the  men  who  come  pouring  into  town  on 
every  train.  Yes,  and  the  women,  too.  Do  you  find 
over  half  of  them  decent  or  civilised?  The  other  half  is 
here  on  the  loot.  They're  not  bred  right  to  do  anything 
but  what  they  do.  They  are  here  to  get  their  share  of 
the  gold  that  is  in  the  oil,  and  they  don't  care  how  they  go 
about  it.  They  will  set  the  tone  of  the  town  for  the  short 
time  that  the  boom  fever  is  on.  They  will  affect  everyone 
in  the  place.  It  is  always  so  in  a  new  oil  field.  The  real 
fellows  grow  rougher,  reckless,  tough.  The  wild  spirit 


196  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

in  the  air  gets  away  with  them.  There  will  be  a  perfect 
devil's  standard  here  from  now  on,  and  you — you  are  too 
fine  to  be  near  it." 

"I  don't  understand,"  she  said.  "Won't  you  explain 
more  definitely?" 

Tarrant  hesitated. 

"Well,"  he  said  finally,  "you  saw  the  Country  Qub  that 
Saturday  night." 

A  flush  -which  she  fought  to  control  flushed  her  cheeks, 
but  looking  steadily  at  him  she  said:  "Yes?" 

"The  Country  Club  on  Saturday  night  is  a  sample  of 
the  conditions  that  will  determine  the  standard  of  Tin 
Spout  during  the  time  it  is  having  its  spell  of  boom  fever," 
he  went  on.  "There  is  one  Country  Club  in  business  now ; 
in  a  month  there  will  be  half  a  dozen  of  them  right  in  this 
field.  There  is  law  and  order  here  now,  but  when  the 
boom  fever  is  on  all  that  will  all  disappear.  It  gets  them 
all. 

"The  county  attorney  and  the  newest  deputy  sheriff 
will  be  affected  the  same.  A  robbery  looks  bad  now ;  but 
they  won't  think  anything  of  it  then.  There  will  be  all 
sorts  of  scrapes.  The  stakes  will  be  so  big  men  won't 
care  how  the  game  is  played.  Murder  will  be  an  incident. 
I  mean  that  literally.  It  won't  last  long ;  and  when  it  is 
over  the  toughs  will  go  on  their  way  and  the  regular  fel- 
lows will  come  back  to  their  senses  again.  But  while  it 
lasts  it  will  be  plumb  hell,  Miss  Dickinson,  and  you  have 
no  business  in  it." 

She  heard  him  through  patiently,  as  if  she  knew  that 
what  he  said  was  true,  and  that  the  knowledge  did  not 
alter  an  irrevocable  situation. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  197 

"You  talk  as  if  I  were  entirely  helpless,"  she  said  at 
length. 

"I  didn't  mean  to,"  he  replied.  "I  merely  want  to  give 
you  good  advice." 

"Well — you  have  done  so." 

"And  I  want  to  see  you  take  it.'* 

"Oh!  That's  quite  a  different  matter,  isn't  it?"  she 
said. 

"Yes ;  that  is  entirely  up  to  you,"  he  agreed.  "I  can't 
make  you  take  the  advice.  I  wish  I  could — I  wish  I  had 
the  right." 

He  broke  off  as  he  noted  the  blood  mounting  to  her 
cheeks. 

"Take  it  that  we  aren't  even  friends,"  he  said.  "Con- 
sider me  as  anything  you  please;  nevertheless  you  must 
admit  that  I  know  just  what  this  field  will  be  when  the 
boom  is  going  good.  You  believe  that,  don't  you  ?  Then 
accept  my  word  that  it  will  be  no  place  for  you." 

"On  the  contrary,"  she  said,  with  a  sudden  display  of 
excitement,  "I  believe  it  will  be  the  very  place  for  me." 

"What!" 

"There  will  be  fortunes  made  and  lost  here,"  she  said. 
"Perhaps  my  fortune  will  be  made  or  lost.  All — all  I 
have — is  involved  in  this  oil  game.  Do  you  imagine  I 
came  down  to  this  desolate  spot  for  pleasure?  What  do 
you  suppose  sent  me  here  ?  Made  it  possible  for  me  to  be 
— to  be  exposed  to — to " 

"Don't  say  it !"  groaned  Tarrant.  "Don't  I  know  what 
a  hound  I  was?" 

She  paused,  looking  down  at  the  ground,  her  breath 
coming  and  going  quickly.  Presently  she  lifted  her  face 
and  looked  directly  in  his  eyes. 


198  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"It  was  because  my  father  had  been  caught  by  the 
game,"  she  said.  "Nothing  else!  He  has  played  des- 
perately. I  know  it,  I  know  exactly  how  things  stand. 
And — I  know  how  I  can  save  him  and  myself  from  com- 
plete ruin.  But  there  is  a  chance — a  fair  chance — 
that " 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  he  gasped. 

"What  do  you  fancy  I  mean?"  she  demanded. 

Tarrant  looked  at  her  a  long  time.  Her  youthful  beauty 
to  him  seemed  like  a  rare  flower,  a  bloom  which  he  would 
have  cheerfully  given  his  life  to  protect,  to  guard  and 
cherish.  The  desire  to  clasp  her  virginal  form  in  his  arms, 
to  hold  her  tight  and  never  let  her  go,  welled  up  in  him. 
But  he  had  yielded  to  that  impulse  once,  yielded  wildly, 
unreasonably;  and  because  she  was  what  she  was  he  felt 
that  mad  moment  had  forever  destroyed  his  right  to  utter 
the  words  of  love  that  rose  to  his  lips.  And  yet  he  did 
utter  them,  for  the  urge  within  him  was  too  strong  to 
control,  and  the  words  came  rolling  out  hoarsely. 

"I  don't  care  what  you  mean,"  he  said.  "I  love  you, 
I  will  always  love  you.  Can't  you " 

"Mr.  Tarrant!"  her  body  was  trembling,  but  her  eyes 
were  firm.  They  caught  his  eyes,  held  them,  accusing  him 
with  her  memory  of  his  past  action. 

"All  right,"  he  said.     "Forgive  me.     Forget  I  spoke." 

"What  did  you  think  I  meant?"  she  insisted. 

"Nothing,"  said  Tarrant. 

In  truth  her  meaning  was  obvious.  If  the  Syndicate's 
plans  were  fulfilled  the  boom  would  make  Bodine  a  multi- 
millionaire, and  she  would  marry  Bodine. 

"Nothing,"  he  replied  and  turned  away. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  199 

So  it  happened  that  he  did  not  see  the  look  in  her  eyes 
as  she  watched  him  go. 

Meanwhile  Tarrant's  wildcat  test  well  had  become  the 
talk  of  the  field.  The  Syndicate  had  effectually  stopped 
production  for  business  reasons.  Human  nature  being 
so  constituted  that  man  will  fly  to  invest  in  a  gilded  prom- 
ise where  he  will  scorn  a  small  but  sure  thing,  it  behooved 
Bodine  and  his  associates,  during  their  stock-selling  cam- 
paign, to  see  that  no  wells  were  completed  in  or  about  the 
spot  now  magically  known  as  Tin  Spout.  The  old  shallow 
production  of  Tin  Spout  was  well  known.  Its  possibilities' 
had  been  demonstrated.  Investment  in  the  small,  proved 
wells  that  had  made  the  field  offered  a  comparatively  cer- 
tain but  low  return.  Wherefore  drilling  wells  was  be- 
neath the  syndicate's  contempt. 

The  Syndicate  was  marketing  a  golden  promise.  Its 
sales  agents,  scattered  over  the  country,  were  interesting 
bankers,  shop  girls,  milliners  and  farmers  in  what  the 
Tin  Spout  field  might  do,  not  what  it  had  done.  If  news 
went  forth  that  a  small  well  or  a  dry  hole  had  been  com- 
pleted the  sheen  of  the  golden  lure  would  be  dimmed. 
More  fatal,  however,  to  the  machinations  of  the  Syndicate 
would  be  the  discovery  of  a  true  oil  field  outside  its  hold- 
ings. The  public  interest  and  the  flow  of  checks  would 
switch  to  the  new  field. 

Tarrant's  refused  to  heed  the  appeal  of  his  stockholders 
and  turn  the  property  over  to  the  Syndicate  had  further 
heightened  the  interest  in  the  well.  The  holders  of  stock 
had  begun  to  suspect  something.  Why  should  Tarrant 
want  to  keep  the  wildcat  as  an  independent  property? 
Why  did  he  keep  on  drilling  ? 

The  well  soon  became  known  as  the  Mystery  Well,  and 


200  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

the  inevitable  crop  of  rumours  began  to  breed,  spread  and 
multiply.  Stockholders  who  sought  to  investigate  these 
rumours  on  the  ground  were  accorded  the  same  summary 
treatment  as  suspected  spies  of  the  Syndicate.  Tarrant 
had  chosen  the  shotgun  guards  of  the  well  for  their  hard- 
ness and  had  given  them  carte  blanche. 

"Get  to  blazes  out  of  here  and  you  won't  get  hurt." 

This,  with  occasionally  a  prod  from  a  gun,  was  the 
reception  accorded  one  and  all  at  the  wildcat  lease.  An 
innocent  rancher,  losing  his  way  in  the  dark,  had  the 
tires  shot  off  his  flivver  before  he  had  time  to  explain. 
Inevitably  the  rumours  increased.  Tarrant  had  got  a 
showing  of  oil  sand.  He  had  shut  off  one  pay  sand.  It 
was  a  better  sand  than  any  in  the  Tin  Spout  field.  He 
had  shut  it  off  and  continued  drilling  because  he  had  a 
showing  of  something  big.  As  days  passed  the  rumours 
became  more  definite.  Someone  claimed  to  have  seen  the 
log.  The  formation  was  identical  with  Ranger  Falls  Dis- 
covery No.  i  well,  the  great  gusher  that  had  made  millions 
and  opened  up  that  great  field. 

None  of  these  rumours  had  the  slightest  basis,  for  no 
one  outside  of  Tarrant  and  Buck  and  Elmer  had  seen  the 
log  of  the  well,  and  none  of  these  had  spoken  its  secrets. 
But  the  effect  was  the  same. 

"Tarrant  has  got  something,"  was  the  verdict.  "He  is 
playing  fox." 

On  the  oil  exchange  there  was  a  rush  to  buy  Tarrant 
Wildcat  No.  5.  The  offers  ran  up  to  five  times  the  orig- 
inal cost  of  the  stock;  and  there  was  not  a  share  offered 
for  sale. 

And  the  price  of  oil  continued  to  rise.  High-gravity 
crude  of  the  test  produced  in  the  Tin  Spout  field  went  to 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  201 

two  dollars  and  a  quarter.  On  the  day  that  Buck,  glanc- 
ing at  the  contents  of  the  bailer  as  he  poured  it  in  the  slush 
pool,  swiftly  called  out  that  the  drilling  was  over,  oil  was 
two  dollars  and  a  half  a  barrel. 

Tarrant  reached  the  well  late  in  the  afternoon,  and  at 
the  sight  of  the  tools  hanging  suspended  above  the  casing 
he  knew  at  once  that  the  answer  to  his  quest  of  faith  was 
at  hand. 

"What  say,  Buck?"  he  asked  casually. 

Buck  nodded. 

"You  said  to  shut  down  and  send  for  you  if " 

"Yes,"  said  Tarrant.  He  looked  round.  "How  about 
the  men?" 

"I  sent  them  to  the  cook  shack  the  minute  I  saw  what 
it  was,"  said  Buck. 

"That's  right.    How  deep  are  you?" 

"Eighteen  ninety-three,"  was  the  reply. 

"I  figured  we  would  hit  it  this  side  of  two  thousand 
if  at  all,"  said  Tarrant.  "You  ran  the  bailer?" 

"Only  once.  I  stopped  as  soon  as  I  saw  a  sign."  Buck 
pointed  to  the  slush  pool.  "There's  the  sign." 

Tarrant  cast  a  swift,  expert  glance  at  the  top  slush 
which  represented  the  latest  bailing  from  the  well  and 
nodded. 

"Run  her  again,  Buck,"  said  he. 

"I  done  have,"  was  the  reply.  "She's  hanging  down 
there  in  the  casing  waiting  for  you." 

"Good !     None  of  the  men  have  seen  it  ?" 

"I  haven't  seen  it  myself,  boss,"  said  Buck. 

"All  right,"  said  Tarrant  quietly.  "You  join  the  men 
in  the  shack  for  a  little  while,  Buck." 

When  he  was  quite  alone  Tarrant  drew  the  long  tube- 


202  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

like  bailer  from  the  casing  and  carried  it  to  the  slush  pool. 
The  sun  was  shining  brightly  and  its  slanting  rays  shim- 
mered and  danced  upon  the  contents  of  the  bailer  as  he 
carefully  poured  it  into  the  pool.  Buck,  lounging  in  the 
door  of  the  cook  shack  saw  Tarrant  bend  forward  and 
concentrate  upon  a  study  of  the  result.  After  a  while 
Tarrant  straightened  up.  The  sun  was  full  upon  his  face 
and  Bucks'  sharp  eyes  saw  every  feature  distinctly,  but 
the  fact  made  him  none  the  wiser. 

"No,  sirree,"  said  Buck  to  himself,  "I'll  never  play 
poker  with  that  oilman,  not  with  my  money." 

Tarrant  searched  leisurely  until  he  found  a  can  of  gaso- 
line, and  just  as  leisurely  poured  its  contents  over  the 
slush  and  struck  a  match.  When  the  fire  had  destroyed 
all  that  was  combustible  in  the  pool,  he  called : 

"All  right  Buck ;  get  a  cap.  We  are  going  to  seal  her. 
We  will  lay  off  the  men,  except  the  shotgun  artists.  You 
can  lay  yourself  off  for  a  few  days,  too." 

He  waited  until  the  well  was  sealed.  Then  he  started 
for  town.  \ 


Oil  Exchange  at  Tin  Spout  was  one  of  the  first 
buildings  erected  after  the  inception  of  the  boom. 
There  was  no  place  to  sleep  comfortably  in  Tin  Spout  at 
that  time;  in  fact,  there  were  few  places  to  sleep  at  all, 
and  there  were  even  fewer  opportunities  for  procuring 
good  food ;  but  the  Oil  Exchange  provided  ample  opportu- 
nity to  speculate  in  oil  shares,  so  the  dearth  of  creature 
comforts  was  overlooked.  Arkansaw,  the  gambler,  de- 
precated the  presence  of  the  Exchange  as  furnishing  an 
unfair  competition  to  his  roulette,  faro,  stud-poker,  craps, 
and  blackjack  games. 

"Folks  is  built  kind  of  funny,  so  they  sort  of  yearn 
for  crazy  gambling,  and  the  crazier  the  merrier,"  philoso- 
phised Arkansaw.  "If  a  man  wants  a  nice  mild  little 
speculation  he'll  buck  the  wheel,  but  when  he's  really  set 
to  gamble  he'll  hit  for  the  Exchange." 

The  Exchange  was  a  square  one-story  box  of  a  building 
which  occupied  the  most  prominent  corner  in  town.  The 
interior  consisted  of  a  single  large  room.  A  blackboard 
with  a  raised  platform  running  its  length  occupied  one 
wall.  There  were  close  to  500  oil  stocks  listed  on  this 
board,  and  if  occasion  required  the  clerks  would  obligingly 
write  in  the  name  of  any  company  that  had  been  recently 
formed.  The  new  companies  thus  hurriedly  listed  aver- 
aged a  round  dozen  each  day. 

The  centre  of  the  great  floor  of  the  room  was  covered 
with  benches  upon  which  sat  the  more  patient  of  the 

203 


204  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

speculators.  These  comprised  the  bulk  of  the  town's 
population,  from  the  solid  merchants  to  the  petty  thieves 
and  bootleggers,  and  from  the  solid  merchant's  wife,  se- 
rious of  dress  and  bearing,  to  the  painted  girls  who  fol- 
lowed the  dance  halls.  Stenographers,  clerks  and  wait- 
resses brought  their  lunches  there  and  spent  the  noon  hour 
munching  sandwiches  and  hoping  to  hear  the  silk-shirted 
man  on  the  run-way  announce  a  bid  for  the  particular 
stock  they  had  put  their  savings  in.  The  majority  of  the 
stocks  were  worthless.  Most  of  the  speculators  were 
aware  of  this,  but  they  knew  also  that  a  few — a  very  few 
perhaps — of  the  hundreds  of  different  shares  listed  on  the 
board  would  bring  fortunes  to  their  possessors. 

Day  and  night  the  Exchange  was  crowded  now.  Oil 
was  going  up.  The  fever  of  speculation  in  oil  shares  was 
upon  the  land.  And  here,  where  the  speculations  were 
conceived  and  engineered,  the  fever  raged  highest.  Tin 
Spout  worked  only  to  procure  money  to  speculate  with. 
To  save,  to  put  by  the  earnings  of  even  a  prosperous  busi- 
ness, was  too  slow.  The  day's  work  done,  men  and  women 
swarmed  to  the  Exchange.  The  evening  trade  was  brisk- 
est of  all,  and  the  Exchange  remained  open  so  long  as 
there  was  a  bid. 

When  Tarrant  arrived  in  Tin  Spout  after  sealing  his 
well  the  Oil  Exchange  was  so  crowded  that  a  group  was 
gathered  about  the  open  door,  unable  to  obtain  entry  into 
the  room  and  yet  able  to  watch  the  board  and  take  part  in 
the  trading.  Within  the  room  there  was  the  heat  and 
dust  and  perspiration  of  a  tightly  packed,  restless  crowd. 
The  benches  were  occupied  to  the  last  inch.  The  space 
along  the  walls  was  jammed  with  red-faced,  khaki-clad 
operators.  Millionaires  and  potential  millionaires  were 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  205 

jostled  by  roughnecks,  Mexicans,  Indians,  and  paid  no 
heed  to  it.  Wives  and  mothers  of  impeccable  standing 
unconsciously  rubbed  shoulders  with  women  whose  trade 
was  sin. 

All  divisions  of  humanity,  of  sex,  of  race,  creed,  color 
or  morals  were  swept  away.  They  were  inconsequential. 
Something  was  going  to  happen.  The  tension  presaged 
something  big.  In  the  crowd  before  the  blackboard  the 
faculty  of  reason  was  temporarily  in  abeyance.  Instinct 
was  dominant,  the  instinct  for  gain.  No  one  was  con- 
scious of  the  crowd  about  him.  No  one  was  conscious 
of  himself.  Self  was  forgotten.  God  was  forgotten. 
Liquid  gold  was  master. 

Tarrant  lingered  a  moment  with  the  group  at  the  door- 
way. His  face  was  hardened  with  determination.  He 
was  broke.  The  deep  test  had  drained  him  dry.  He  was 
desperate  and  therefore  ruthless. 

"Bid  two  for  Tarrant  No.  5." 

His  voice  calling  out  through  a  lull  in  the  room  was 
like  the  clang  of  a  gong.  A  moment  of  complete  silence 
fell  upon  the  Exchange. 

"Two  offered  for  Tarrant  No.  5,"  sang  the  caller  on 
the  platform.  "Who  is  bidding?" 

"Bid  two  for  Tarrant  No.  5,"  repeated  Tarrant,  thrust- 
ing himself  toward  the  board.  The  caller  stared.  The 
crowd  stood  on  tiptoe  to  see.  Some  recognised  the  large 
sombrero  and  a  whisper  ran  tensely  through  the  room : 

"Tarrant  is  after  his  own  stock!" 

"Bid  two,"  said  Tarrant  to  the  caller.  "What's  wrong, 
bud;  lost  your  voice?" 

"Two  for  Tarrant  No.  5 !"  cried  the  caller.    "Call  your 


2o6  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

offers,  folks,  any  offers  ?  Why,  Mr.  Tarrant,  there's  been 
ten  bid  and  no  offers  made." 

"Bid  ten,"  said  Tarrant  presently. 

"Up  she  goes!"  chanted  the  man.  "Ten  bid.  Make 
your  offers." 

All  other  trading  ceased.  The  room  gradually  became 
stilled.  The  fat  manager  of  the  Exchange,  sensing  some- 
thing big,  put  a  fresh  cigar  in  the  corner  of  his  mouth 
and  with  a  nod  of  appreciation  to  Tarrant  mounted  the 
platform  and  took  personal  charge. 

"Ten  bid  for  Tarrant  No.  5,"  he  said,  leaning  impres- 
sively on  the  railing.  "Let  me  have  an  offer." 

"Who  has  got  that  stock?"  he  demanded  crisply,  walk- 
ing up  and  down  the  platform.  "Somebody  has  got  it. 
Offer  it.  Any  figure.  Mr.  Tarrant  is  bidding.  See  if 
you  can't  get  together.  Any  offer?" 

"Nothing  at  ten,  Mr.  Tarrant,"  he  said  suggestively, 
returning  to  the  bidder.  "We've  had  a  standing  bid  of 
ten  and  no  offers." 

"Bid  eleven,"  said  Tarrant. 

"Eleven  bid  for  Tarrant  No.  5,"  cried  the  manager, 
pounding  the  railing.  "Miss  Barker,  you  had  some  of  that 
stock." 

"Yeah,"  snapped  the  waitress  whom  he  addressed,  "and 
I  was  fish  enough  to  trade  it  for  Pan-National." 

"Collins,"  called  the  manager,  "how  about  you?" 

"Done  let  mine  go,  too,"  was  the  angry  reply. 

"Bid  twelve,"  said  Tarrant. 

"Twelve  bid  for  Tarrant  No.  5,"  said  the  manager 
slowly  and  impressively.  "I  advise  those  who  possess 
this  stock  to  make  an  offer,  and  see  if  we  can  make  a  deal." 

In  the  silence  that  followed  Tarrant  said  impatiently: 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  207 

"Bid  fifteen." 

"Fifteen!" 

The  crowd  suddenly  seethed  with  excitement.  The 
cauldron  boiled  over.  Men  looked  about  seeking  the  for- 
tunate owners  of  the  stock.  The  wife  of  a  banker  swore 
dispassionately  as  she  recalled  how  long  ago  she  had  sold 
her  Tarrant  No.  5.  There  was  no  question  concerning 
the  well  now.  Tarant  had  hit  it!  He  was  trying  to  get 
all  the  stock  back  in  his  own  hands  before  bringing  in  the 
well.  Men  slipped  out  and  ran  up  and  down  the  street 
frantically  hunting  odd  shares  of  the  stock.  Barbers  left 
unshaven  customers  in  the  chair  and  hurried  to  the  Ex- 
change. 

"Spence,"  whispered  Elmer  in  Tarrant's  ear,  "Bodine 
just  came  in  and  he's  looking  wicked." 

"Bid  twenty,"  said  Tarrant  calmly. 

"Twenty  bid  for  Tarrant  No.  5,"  tolled  the  manager. 
His  assistants  out  of  sheer  hysteria  repeated  the  call. 

"Twenty  bid  for  Tarrant  No.  5 !" 

"Bid  twenty-five,"  called  Bodine  sharply. 

"Twenty-five  bid  for  Tarrant  No.  5 !"  cried  the  callers. 

"Buy  at  thirty."  Bodine  had  emphatically  usurped  Tar- 
rant's  position  as  the  centre  of  the  situation. 

"Thirty-two,"  drawled  the  latter. 

"Thirty-five,"  said  Bodine. 

"Forty,"  said  Tarrant. 

There  was  a  lull.  The  callers  were  too  astounded  to 
speak.  All  eyes,  except  Tarrant's,  were  upon  Bodine. 

"Forty-five!"  snapped  the  promoter. 

Tarrant  turned  on  him  hotly. 

"How  many  shares  have  you  got  ?"  he  demanded.  "You 
£an't  get  control.  What  are  you  trying  to  do  ?" 


2o8  ,Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"I'll  show  you  what  I'm  trying  to  do,"  retorted  Bodine. 
"Call  that  bid:  forty-five  for  No.  5." 

"It's  no  use,  Bodine,"  said  the  young  man.  "I've  got 
the  control.  You've  cornered  the  rest  of  it,  but  it  won't 
do  you  any  good.  I'll  give  you  forty-five  for  what  you 
have  got,  but  that's  the  limit." 

"Nothing  doing!"  sneered  Bodine. 

Tarrant  leaned  on  one  leg  leisurely  and  hooked  his 
thumbs  on  his  belt  and  grinned. 

"Whew!  That  was  a  close  call!"  he  drawled.  "If 
anyone  ever  had  told  me  I'd  go  and  make  a  fool  of  myself 
like  that  I'd  sure  been  peeved.  Reckon  the  oil  fever  must 
be  getting  me,  too,  seeing  as  I  ain't  drinking  any." 

"You  don't  fool  me  by  that  talk,  Tarrant,  not  a  bit," 
said  Bodine. 

Tarrant  shifted  from  one  foot  to  the  other. 

"What  do  you  want  of  that  fool  stock,  anyway?"  he 
drawled.  "You  can't  get  enough  to  give  you  control  of 
one  string  of  casing  in  No.  5.  Personally,  Bodine,  you 
are  not  so  popular  with  me.  I  control  the  well.  I  can 
ruin  No.  5,  or  I  can  let  her  lay,  or  I  can  shoot  her,  just 
as  I  please.  You  better  turn  your  stock  over  to  me.  I'll 
take  it  at  forty-five." 

Bodine's  reply  was  a  smile  of  cold  contempt. 

"All  right!''  Tarrant  suddenly  threw  all  the  intensity 
of  his  personality  into  the  play  of  his  final  card.  "You 
know  me,  Bodine ;  you  know  my  record.  Can  you  see  me 
bringing  in  a  well  that  you  would  cash  in  on?  Can  you? 
No!  Not  if  she  never  pays  me  a  cent!" 

"That's  quite  satisfactory,"  said  Bodine.  "I  will  be 
satisfied  if  you  leave  it  sealed." 

"Yes,  but  that  stock  is  only  on  Well  No.  5 !"  cried  Tar- 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  209 

rant.  "Do  you  understand,  Bodine  ?  It's  a  big  lease  and 
there's  plenty  of  room  to  drill  new  holes.  Bodine,  you're 
stung.  You've  dropped  your  money  in  a  hole  that  I  am 
going  to  jam  all  to  blazes !" 

He  turned  to  go,  the  picture  of  reckless  anger  incarnate. 

"Just  a  minute,  Tarrant,"  said  Bodine.  "I  am  still 
bidding.  Bid  fifty  for  Tarrant  No.  5 !" 

"For  how  many  shares?"  cried  Tarrant. 

"All  there  are,"  replied  the  promoter  coolly. 

"I've  got  all  there  are,  Bodine." 

"Are  you  offering?" 

"Yes!" 

"Bought,"  said  Bodine.  "Tarrant,  you  are  going  out 
of  this  field  one  way  or  another.  I  don't  want  you  round." 

Tarrant  saved  the  pleasure  of  a  retort  until  the  transfer 
had  been  effected  and  the  hundred  thousand  dollars  which 
Bodine  paid  him  for  his  shares  was  deposited  to  his  ac- 
count. 

"Bodine,  I  figured  you  wouldn't  stand  by  and  pass  up  a 
chance  to  grab  a  lease  away  from  me,"  said  he.  "You 
sure  are  set  on  getting  me  out  of  this  field,  aren't  you  ?" 

"Yes,  and  if  you  are  wise  you  will  leave  right  now," 
retorted  Bodine.  "You  have  got  a  hundred  thousand 
dollars  clear.  If  you  persist  in  asking  for  a  show-down 
we  will  send  you  out  of  here  with  nothing  but  your  bare 
hands." 

Tarrant  looked  at  him  with  cold  eyes  and  smiled. 

"A  hundred  thousand  dollars,"  he  repeated.  "Why, 
man,  that  is  just  my  stake  money.  Haven't  I  told  you 
I  am  after  a  real  oil  well  round  here?" 

"And  I  have  made  plain  to  you  our  position,"  retorted 
the  promoter.  "That  is  all." 


210  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"No  it  isn't,  Bodine,"  drawled  Tarrant  "I  forgot  to 
tell  you ;  when  you  open  No.  5  up  you  needn't  trouble  to 
run  the  bailer.  I  ran  it  myself  just  before  I  sealed  her 
up.  There's  dandy  sand  there.  But  there  is  nothing  in 
that  sand,  Bodine,  not  even  salt  water.  She's  dry !  Bo- 
dine,  I  sure  am  obliged  to  you  for  the  way  you  helped  me 
out  of  a  mean  hole." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

BODINE  returned  at  once  to  his  office,  where  Grogan 
was  waiting.  The  gunman  was  getting  hard  to  hold. 
Ever  since  the  night  at  the  Country  Club  when  Tarrant 
had  so  skilfully  bluffed  him  the  blood  lust  had  been  rising 
within  him.  To  his  feral  nature  there  could  be  but  one 
way  of  settlement  with  Tarrant.  The  subtleties  of  Bo- 
dine's  reactions  were  impossible  to  him.  Like  a  drunkard 
who  periodically  craves  the  insanity  of  his  vice,  Grogan 
craved  the  sensation  of  feeling  a  gun  in  his  hand,  the  roar 
of  a  shot  and  the  spectacle  of  Tarrant's  figure  crumpling 
before  him. 

Bodine's  dictation  irked  him.  He  cared  nothing  for 
a  policy  that  required  even  temporarily  a  semblance  of 
meticulous  respect  for  the  law.  Without  a  second  thought 
on  the  matter  he  would,  if  alone,  have  cast  the  entire 
future  of  the  Pan-National  Syndicate  to  the  winds  for 
the  privilege  of  gratifying  his  bloody  obsession.  Bodine 
was  fully  aware  of  this.  He  knew  that  eventually  Grogan 
would  break  the  bonds  of  his  influence  and  plans.  He  did 
not  purpose,  however,  to  permit  such  an  eventuality  to 
interfere  with  his  ambitions  and  he  held  Grogan  in  sternly. 

Grogan  was  seated  in  a  corner  of  the  office  when  Bodine 
entered  and  closed  the  door.  The  gunman's  face  was  a 
study  of  frustrated  rage.  A  ring  of  cigarette  stubs  littered 
the  floor  about  his  chair,  and  he  was  puffing  a  fresh  one. 
He  blew  the  smoke  in  slowly  through  his  nose  and  his 
eyes  stared  unseeingly  from  between  narrowed  lids.  He 

217 


212  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

made  no  sign  to  indicate  that  he  was  aware  of  Bodine's 
presence,  but  when  the  promoter  had  seated  himself  at  his 
desk  Grogan  said  softly: 

"Don't  you  interfere  next  time  I  go  after  him." 

Bodine  did  not  reply.  He  took  a  cigar  from  the  box 
on  the  desk,  lighted  it  and  presently  rose  and  began  to 
pace  the  room. 

"He's  your  meat,"  he  said  finally,  blowing  out  a  great 
cloud  of  smoke. 

"I  don't  need  you  to  tell  me  that,"  responded  Grogan 
in  the  same  dangerous  tone.  "He  asked  for  it  when  he 
ran  that  windy  on  me  out  at  the  Club." 

"But  not  yet,"  continued  Bodine  after  another  turn  of 
the  room. 

Grogan' s  eyelids  drew  together  a  trifle  closer. 

"I'm  pretty  tired  of  hearing  that,"  he  purred.  "I'm 
pretty  tired  of  being  kept  off  a  four-flusher  like  Tarrant." 

"Are  you?"  Bodine  spoke  with  a  sudden  change  of 
tone  that  caused  Grogan  to  look  up.  "Then  try  to  down 
him  and  see  how  you  make  out." 

"Meaning  he's  a  hard  one?"  sneered  Grogan.  "The 
big  bluffer  doesn't  go  heeled,  and  he  will  yelp  at  the  sight 
of  a  gun." 

"Meaning,"  said  Bodine  incisively,  "that  I  don't  in- 
tend to  let  any  untimely  break  on  your  part  spoil  my  plans. 
I  don't  want  to  have  to  get  rid  of  you,  Grogan,  unless  I 
have  to.  If  you  go  on  the  prod  now,  I  will  have  to.  That 
is  your  situation.  I  am  taking  no  chances.  This  means 
too  much  to  me.  I  want  that  girl  of  Dickinson's.  I  am 
going  to  marry  her.  She  doesn't  know  it  yet,  but  she  will 
soon. 

"I  am  going  to  break  Tarrant.    I  am  going  to  send  him 


Tar  rant  of  Tin  Spout  213 

out  of  here  with  no  reputation  and  no  money.  I'm  going 
to  crush  him  and  kick  him  back  to  where  he  belongs — a 
roughneck  with  bare  hands.  I  have  got  the  means  to  do 
both  these  things.  After  they  are  done  you  can  have  him. 
But  not  until.  Understand  me,  Grogan?  Now  go  and 
tell  Dickinson  to  come  here  at  once,"  commanded  Bodine. 
"Then  go  back  to  the  Club  till  I  send  for  you  again." 

When  Marjorie's  father  entered  the  office  he  found  Bo- 
dine  hurriedly  writing  a  number  of  telegrams.  Dickinson 
waited  respectfully.  Presently  Bodine  swung  round  with 
the  telegrams  in  his  hand. 

"Good  evening,  Mr.  Vice-President !"  said  he. 

The  effect  of  his  words  was  quite  what  he  had  expected 
it  to  be;  to  supplement  them  he  treated  his  visitor  to  a 
subtle  wink.  A  gleam  of  avidity  shone  in  Dickinson's 
eyes,  and  an  expression  of  craftiness  came  about  his  lips. 

"I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  writing  these  telegrams  be- 
fore consulting  you,  Mr.  Vice-President,"  continued  Bo- 
dine. "I  hope  they  have  your  endorsement  so  they  may 
be  forwarded  at  once  to  the  newspapers." 

He  winked  again.  Dickinson's  hands  trembled  as  he 
reached  for  the  messages. 

"First  vice-president !"  he  stammered.  A  swift  change 
from  pride  and  gratification  to  caution  and  guile  swept 
over  his  countenance.  The  pair  looked  at  each  other  with 
the  crafty  expression  of  fellow  conspirators.  "But,  Bo- 
dine, the  other  directors — stockholders?  Can  we  do — 
this?" 

"Do  you  want  to  become  a  millionaire?"  retorted  Bo- 
dine. 

The  potent  word  raised  Marjorie's  father  to  his  feet 
in  excitement. 


214  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"A  millionaire !"  he  repeated. 

His  eyes  followed  Bodine's  every  movement  slavishly, 

"I  want  to  marry  Marjorie,"  said  the  promoter.  "You 
know  that." 

"A  millionaire!"  repeated  the  other  as  if  dazed.  "Do 
you  mean  it,  Bodine?" 

"I  mean  it,"  came  the  positive  answer.  "Did  you  hear 
what  I  said  about  the  girl?" 

"She'll  do  it!  I'll  see  that  she  does.  Anything  you 
say,"  chattered  Dickinson.  "Yes,  yes." 

"I  can  break  you,  Dickinson,"  snapped  Bodine.  "Every 
dollar  you  had  is  in  Pan-National  stock — and  some  you 
didn't  have." 

"I — I  got  some  loans  at  the  bank,"  stammered  the  doc- 
tor. "The  stock  is  sure  to  go  up,  isn't  it?" 

"Dickinson,"  said  Bodine,  "the  day  I  marry  Marjorie 
all  your  notes  will  be  paid,  and  your  stock  will  be  secure. 
The  Syndicate  is  ready  to  make  its  big  killing.  Tarrant 
will  be  through  here  when  his  option  on  the  88  Ranch 
expires.  We  will  be  in  complete  control.  Immediately 
after  that  we  will  bring  in  a  big  well."  He  winked.  "We 
have  20,000  barrels  of  oil  in  storage  here  for  that  pur- 
pose. Understand?  That  well  will  make  you  a  million- 
aire, Dickinson.  One  million  ?  Pooh !  There's  no  limit. 
Oil  is  going  up,  up.  The  country  is  crazy  about  oil.  I  am 
going  to  be  one  of  the  real  big  ones  in  this  game,"  said 
Bodine,  grinding  his  teeth  savagely,  "and  I  want  that  girl, 
Dickinson.  I  am  going  to  have  her."  He  struck  his  fist 
on  the  desk  with  the  force  of  a  sledge.  "One  way  or  an- 
other she  is  going  to  be  mine." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

^  I  ^ARRANT  experienced  no  sense  of  elation  at  the  suc- 
•••  cess  of  his  manoeuver.  The  money  he  had  realised 
thereby  was  only  a  means  to  an  end.  Reckless  as  the 
drilling  of  the  deep  test  had  appeared  it  had  in  reality  been 
only  a  true  part  of  his  search  for  the  great  pool.  The 
shallow  sand  which  he  had  first  struck  had  warned  him 
that  the  well  was  too  far  south.  When  he  had  found  the 
deep  sand  and  found  that  dry  also,  the  secret  of  the  Tin 
Spout  field,  the  reason  why  the  big  pool  had  not  been 
found  was  apparent.  He  at  once  proceeded  to  seek  a  new 
place  to  drill. 

It  was  to  secure  funds  for  this  drilling  that  he  had  made 
his  coup  on  the  Exchange.  Day  after  day  and  night  after 
night  he  worked  toward  the  future.  The  geological  struc- 
ture, the  fault  lines,  domes  and  anticlines  of  the  field  were 
on  open  book  to  him.  He  had  been  right  about  the  exis- 
tence of  a  deep  sand.  Now  his  mind  followed  the  dip  of 
that  sand  deep  down  into  the  earth.  Somewhere  in  that 
sand  there  was  oil.  This  was  an  article  of  faith  with  him. 
His  task  now  was  to  trace  the  dip  of  the  sand  and  locate 
the  surface  indications  of  an  oil  pool  far  down  in  the 
earth. 

Day  after  day  he  prospected,  and  his  search  led  him 
northward,  bit  by  bit.  Mile  by  mile  he  searched  the  for- 
mation. He  reached  the  Tin  Spout  field  proper.  He  went 
through  it.  It  was  a  week  after  his  sale  of  Well  No.  5 
that  he  came  to  the  end  of  his  quest.  The  structure  he 

215 


216  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

was  seeking  lay  half  a  mile  within  the  lines  of  the  section 
of  the  88  Ranch,  on  which  his  option  expired  on  the  mor- 
row at  noon. 

He  was  standing  upon  a  small  elevation  on  the  barren 
section  when  he  arrived  at  his  decision.  It  was  drawing 
toward  the  evening  of  a  rainy  day.  To  the  westward 
rumbled  the  thunder  of  a  dying  storm.  In  the  south  the 
lights  of  Tin  Spout  were  beginning  to  twinkle,  tiny  points 
of  cheer  in  a  sodden,  desolate  scene.  Tarrant  looked  at 
his  watch  and  knew  he  had  missed  the  evening  train  for 
Ranger  Falls.  There  was,  however,  plenty  of  time.  He 
could  drive  down  or  take  the  next  train  early  in  the 
morning. 

In  the  dusk  he  failed  to  see  the  skulking  figure  which 
had  been  watching  him  from  a  near-by  knoll.  The  figure 
slid  out  of  sight  as  he  started  for  his  machine,  and  ran. 
Tarrant  heard  a  motor  start  and  race  away,  but  cars  were 
too  common  thereabouts  for  it  to  cause  him  any  worry. 
As  he  drove  back  to  town  he  listened  to  the  rumbling  of 
the  storm  in  the  west  and  decided  to  wait  until  the  morning 
train.  It  would  land  him  in  Ranger  Falls  at  8  o'clock,  in 
plenty  of  time. 

The  days  and  nights  of  strain  had  told  upon  even  the 
young  steel  of  his  constitution,  and  with  the  end  of  his 
search  came  a  sudden  weariness.  He  flung  himself  fully 
clad  upon  the  bunk  in  his  office,  setting  his  alarm  clock  and 
leaving  word  with  the  night  pump  man  to  awaken  him  in 
time  to  catch  the  morning  train,  and  he  was  sound  asleep 
before  the  departing  engineer  had  closed  the  door. 

For  Marjorie  the  early  part  of  the  evening  had  been 
similar  to  others  since  she  and  her  father  had  become 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  217 

domiciled  at  the  "Deaf"  Hemps.  At  six  o'clock  Mrs. 
Hemp  had  called  as  usual : 

"Is  your  pop  home,  Honey?"  to  be  met  with  the  usual 
response:  "Not  yet,  Mrs.  Hemp." 

"Then  I  reckon  you'll  be  stepping  down  to  the  Exchange 
to  get  him,  won't  you,  Honey?"  continued  Mrs.  Hemp. 
"And  if  you  see  that  old  man  of  mine  you  might  get  him, 
too." 

Marjorie  wearily  picked  up  an  umbrella  and  proceeded 
upon  her  regular  evening  errand.  Dr.  Dickinson's  interest 
in  the  speculative  business  conducted  at  the  Exchange  now 
was  of  such  an  absorbing  nature  that  he  was  reluctant 
to  tear  himself  away  from  his  chosen  seat  even  for  the 
purpose  of  nourishment  and  sleep.  Marjorie  found  their 
positions  reversed.  She  watched  over  him  and  cared  for 
him  as  one  might  over  an  irresponsible  child,  guarding  his 
welfare  in  spite  of  himself.  Through  long,  hot  nights 
she  had  sat  with  him  when  he,  haggard  and  glassy-eyed 
after  a  disastrous  day,  would  have  resorted  to  the  drugs 
in  his  medicine  case  to  secure  the  sleep  which  his  excited 
condition  denied  him.  Her  own  interest  had  been  caught 
by  her  father's  speculation  in  oil  shares  and  leases.  Con- 
stantly he  predicted  and  promised  that  he  would  strike  a 
winner.  Certainly  one  of  the  many  leases  he  dabbled  in 
must  yield  a  gusher ;  or  some  of  his  shares  must  begin  to 
jump.  Then  they  would  be  rich  and  independent  as  they 
had  been  before  the  doctor  had  been  caught  by  the  oil- 
game.  They  would  be  free.  Bodine  would  lose  his  power 
over  her  father.  Thus  Marjorie  prayed  that  her  father's 
wild  dreams  might  come  true.  The  dreams  seemed  to  be 
her  only  hope  at  present.  Vague  and  improbable  as  they 
were  they  yet  represented  hope  to  her,  and  in  the  shadows 


2i 8  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

beyond  them  always  lurked  the  figure  of  Bodine,  implaca- 
bly biding  his  time. 

She  did  not  find  her  father  in  the  Exchange  this  eve- 
ning. She  was  directed  to  the  office  of  the  Syndicate. 
Dr.  Dickinson  was  there.  So  was  Grogan  and  Bodine, 
the  latter  with  a  look  of  calm  triumph  upon  his  counte- 
nance as  he  buttoned  a  rain-coat  about  his  bulky  figure. 
There  was  an  air  of  authority,  even  proprietorship  as  he 
greeted  Marjorie,  for  she  was  young  and  apparently  help- 
less in  the  clutch  of  circumstances,  and  Bodine  at  that 
moment  felt  himself  at  the  crest  of  his  power. 

"You'll  be  here  to-morrow,  Marjorie?"  said  he,  taking 
her  hand  and  beaming  upon  her. 

"Why — yes,"  she  stammered. 

"I  am  going  to  have  something  important  to  say  to  you 
to-morrow,"  said  Bodine,  softly.  "It  will  be  a  big  day 
for  us — all  of  us.  Au  revoir — till  to-morrow." 

I3er  father  chuckled,  rubbing  his  hands,  as  they  watched 
Bodine  and  Grogan  drive  away  in  the  big  car. 

"What  is  it?"  she  demanded  breathlessly.  Hope  flut- 
tered and  rose  in  her  bosom  as  she  studied  the  elation  upon 
her  parent's  face.  "Father — have  you  finally — hit  it?" 

Dr.  Dickinson  shook  his  head  still  chuckling. 

"Wait  until  to-morrow,  Marjie,"  said  he.  "I  can't  tell 
you,  but No,  I  can't  tell  you." 

"You  can — you  can — you  must!" 

She  kept  at  him  mercilessly.  What  if  Bodine  had  com- 
manded silence.  Was  she  not  his  daughter,  his  own  flesh 
and  blood? 

"Now  you  tell  me,  daddy ;  you  tell  me  at  once." 

It  was  not  her  pleadings  so  much  as  Dr.  Dickinson's 
elation  that  won.  The  story  was  too  big  for  the  doctor  in 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  219 

his  present  excited  condition  to  keep  secret.  It  came  out 
in  a  triumphant  chuckle.  Bodine  was  going  to  Ranger 
Falls  to  grab  the  option  on  the  88  Lease  while  Tarrant 
slept  and  this  move  would  make  the  Syndicate  absolute 
master  of  the  field. 

"Wait  for  to-morrow,  Marjie,"  said  he,  shaking  a 
finger  at  her  playfully.  "It  will  be  a  big  day,  especially 
for  my  little  girl." 

She  made  no  reply  and  he  looked  at  her  wistfully. 

"You — won't — spoil  it,  Marjie?"  he  stammered. 

"Daddy!"  she  whispered.    "If  I  should— if  I " 

She  looked  up  swiftly,  saw  fear,  despair,  ruin  in  the 
haggard  face  above  her. 

"Daddy!" 

"Ruin!"  he  whispered,  wetting  his  dry  lips.  "That's 
what  it  means.  I'll  be  ruined.  You  won't — Marjie — 
Marjie!" 

She  went  to  her  room,  sick  with  anguish  and  apprehen- 
sion. What  would  to-morrow  bring — for  her  ?  Bodine's 

triumph;  her  father's  triumph;  and  for  her ?  Mar- 

jorie  felt  that  she  was  cornered.  And  then,  in  her  moment 
of  desperation,  instinct  whispered  to  her.  Bodine  was 
going  after  the  last  option  that  Tarrant  held  in  the  field. 
If  he  succeeded  in  getting  it  Tarrant  would  be  eliminated. 
He  would  have  to  go  away.  Marjorie  started  at  the  shock 
which  the  thought  dealt  her.  In  the  darkness  of  her 
room  she  blushed;  she  grew  warm  and  cold.  Tarrant — 
they  were  going  to  ruin  him.  They  were  going  to  drive 
him  out.  He  would  go  away;  and  then  she  would  be 
alone,  hopelessly,  helplessly  alone! 

She  sat  up,  her  lips  pressed  tight,  her  whole  being  vivi- 
fied and  driven  by  an  instinctive  power  against  which  she 


220  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

had  no  desire  to  struggle.  Could  she  help  him?  That 
was  all  that  mattered.  There  was  no  question  of  loyalty 
to  her  father.  The  force  that  drove  her  was  too  mighty 
for  that.  Instinctively  she  responded  to  the  call.  In- 
stinctively she  ran  forth  into  the  wet  night,  hugging  her 
new  born  hope  to  her  panting  breast. 

Tarrant  wakened  swiftly  from  sound  slumber.  Some- 
one was  shaking  him,  a  strange  voice  was  calling  his  name, 
and  there  was  a  presence  in  the  little  office  which  was  new 
to  him. 

"Mr.  Tarrant,  Mr.  Tarrant !    Wake  up,  wake  up !" 

He  came  to  his  feet  staggering.  By  the  light  from  the 
open  door  he  recognised  Marjorie  and  he  stared  in  be- 
wilderment. 

"You — you!"  he  stammered.  "What's  wrong?  What 
can  I  do?" 

"No,  no,  no !"  she  whispered.  "I'm  all  right.  It's  you. 
I  heard  them,  Mr.  Bodine  and  Grogan.  Grogan  had  been 
spying  on  you.  They  think  you  are  after  the  section  of  88 
ranch." 

"I  am !"  said  Tarrant. 

"Then — hurry,  hurry !    They  are  after  it,  too !" 

Tarrant  grew  calmer  as  he  heard  the  words. 

"I  will  telephone  Jake  Stringer,"  he  said,  fumbling  in 
the  dark  for  the  telephone.  "Then  I  will  try  to  thank 
you." 

"No,  no!    Don't  waste  any  time." 

"What?" 

"The  storm  has  cut  us  off,"  she  said  swiftly.  "The 
wires  are  down." 

"How  do  you  know?"  he  asked  in  surprise. 

"Because  I  tried  to  telephone,"  she  replied  promptly. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  221 

"To  Ranger  Falls?" 

"To  Ranger  Falls,  yes,"  she  said.  And  then,  with 
something  like  a  gulp,  "I  tried  to  get  Mr.  Stringer.  Tried 
every  way.  The  wires  are  down  all  round  Ranger  Falls. 
Telegraph  and  everything.  The  town  is  cut  off." 

"You  tried" — Tarrant  could  scarcely  comprehend. 
"You  tried  to  get  Jake  Stringer?" 

"Yes,  yes,  yes !  I  thought  you  were  still  out  in  the  field 
and  couldn't  be  found.  There  was  no  time  to  lose.  Then 
the  pump  man  said  you  were  here.  You  must  not  waste 
any  time.  They  are  getting  the  big  machine  ready — Mr. 
Bodine  and  Grogan.  They  are  going  to  Ranger  Falls  to- 
night!" 

In  the  moment  of  stress  Tarrant  grew  perfectly  calm. 

"Bodine  and  Grogan — going  to  Ranger  Falls  to-night," 
he  repeated.  "That  means  they  are  going  to  see  Jake 
Stringer.  It  means  they  are  after  the  lease  on  88  ranch." 

"Yes,"  she  said  eagerly.    "What  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"I  can't  let  them  do  that,"  continued  Tarrant  as  before. 
"I  can't  let  them  get  88.  I  need  it  in  my  business." 

"Then  you  must  not  let  them  get  it." 

"That's  right.  I  must  not  let  them  get  it.  I — won't  let 
them  get  it." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"Thank  you  first " 

"Nonsense!" 

"Then  I  will  get  busy." 

"Do  it!  Do  it — at  once — please!"  she  gasped.  "Can 
— can  I  help  any?" 

"Any  more,  do  you  mean?"  he  asked.  "Don't  you 
know  I  owe  you  more  now " 


222  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"Don't,  please!"  she  cried.  "You  must  not — waste  any 
time." 

"Right!"  He  began  to  move.  "Will  you  take  a  note 
for  Elmer  ?  He's  round  some  place." 

"I  will  find  him,"  she  responded.    "Write  the  note." 

He  switched  on  the  light  and  wrote  hurriedly.  As  she 
took  the  note  from  his  hands  he  said  seriously :  "I  want  to 
shake  hands  with  you." 

"What?    Why— why?" 

"Because  I've  got  the  chance,"  he  said.    "Shake." 

She  looked  at  the  proffered  hand  and  hesitated.  Then 
abruptly  she  turned  and  sped  away  in  the  gathering  dark- 
ness. 

She  found  herself  alone  in  the  dark  with  the  note  for 
Elmer  clutched  in  her  hand.  Her  whole  being  was  a 
tumult  of  emotions.  Since  the  day  long  ago  when  Tar- 
rant,  in  a  moment  of  reckless  abandon,  had  swung  her  up 
to  his  saddle  and  kissed  her  with  all  the  intensity  of  his 
being,  the  presence  of  the  young  man  was  disturbing  to 
her.  The  memory  of  that  moment  rose  flame  clear  to  her 
each  time  she  saw  him.  It  disturbed  her.  She  realised 
that  for  that  moment — the  only  moment  in  her  life  thus 
far — a  man  had  completely  dominated  her. 

She  had  fought  Tarrant  instinctively,  the  primitive  fight 
of  the  female  against  the  rude  clasp  of  the  male,  but  she 
had  realised  afterward  that  the  moment  had  left  an  im- 
pression on  her  otherwise  than  the  primary  impression  of 
revulsion.  The  memory  of  his  steel-like  arm  about  her 
waist,  and  the  rise  and  fall  of  his  chest  against  hers  as  he 
had  held  her  ruthlessly  to  him,  was  burned  in  her  soul. 
It  had  marked  the  awakening  to  a  consciousness  of  the 
physical  woman  in  her.  She  resented  that  deeply.  Her 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  223 

life  was  her  own.  She  had  asked  nothing  from  him,  and 
desired  no  interference  to  her  life  program  from  him. 

Being  willing  to  let  him  alone  she  had  asked,  and  ex- 
pected, that  he  would  let  her  alone.  It  had  not  worked 
out  that  way.  He  had  brutally  forced  his  way  through  the 
hedges  of  convention  into  the  sanctum  of  her  spirit  and 
ruthlessly  driven  her  to  admission  of  the  old,  eternal 
verities.  She  was  a  woman,  and — he  was  a  man.  He 
had  kissed  her  by  force  and  then  he  had  spoken  of  love. 
Never,  never  could  she  forget !  Never  would  she  forgive ! 
She  stamped  her  feet  angrily  on  the  soggy  ground.  The 
anger  was  directed  at  herself.  Why  had  she  come  there 
to-night?  Why  had  she  allowed  herself  to  become  inter- 
ested ? 

The  note  in  her  hand  crackled  as  she  clenched  her  fists 
vehemently.  Elmer — she  was  to  find  Elmer.  The  calm 
impertinence  of  Tarrant!  To  use  her  as  his  messenger! 
Where  would  Elmer  be — Tarrant  must  take  her  for  a 
fool ! — possibly  the  pump  man  would  know. 

"Elmer,"  repeated  the  engineer,  "why,  no,  miss,  I  can't 
say  I  do  know  where  you  might  find  that  old  specimen. 
He's  laying  off,  you  know,  and  him  being  the  kind  of  a 
character  he  is,  there's  no  telling  where  he  spends  his 
nights.  Down  to  Arkansaw's,  most  likely." 

"The  gambler's?" 

"Sure,  miss.  That's  Elmer's  hangout.  The  old  wreck 
has  had  a  run  of  luck  lately.  Beat  me  out  of " 

She  waited  to  hear  no  more.  That  was  quite  in  accord 
with  Tarrant's  impertinence — asking  her  to  find  a  man 
who  frequented  gambling  houses.  Had  he  not  humiliated 
her  sufficiently  ?  She  nearly  sobbed  as  she  hurried  toward 


224  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

Main  Street;  but  she  turned  her  steps  in  the  direction  of 
the  hotel  where  Arkansaw  had  his  "room." 

In  the  light  of  the  hotel  she  halted  and  told  herself  that 
this  was  too  much.  Then  she  called  a  boy,  gave  him  a 
message  and  seated  herself  resolutely  in  the  unkempt 
lobby.  The  boy  departed  respectfully  and  returned. 

"He  ain't  there,  miss,"  he  reported.  "Arkansaw  says 
to  ask  who  was  askin'  for  him  and  did  Spence  Tarrant 
want  him?" 

She  debated  a  moment. 

"Go  and  ask  Mr.  Arkansaw  to  come  here,  please,"  she 
said  resolutely. 

"Mr.  Arkansas,  Mr.  Arkansaw !"  grinned  the  boy  as  he 
obeyed.  "That's  class,  that  is." 

Arkansaw  came,  quiet,  neatly  dressed,  respectful.  He 
had  lived,  had  this  wicked  young  man,  and  nothing  could 
astonish  him.  He  removed  his  hat. 

"It  is  about  Elmer,  Mr.  Tarrant's  foreman,"  explained 
Marjorie.  "I  have  a  very  important  message  for  him." 

"From  Spence — from  Mr.  Tarrant?"  asked  the  gambler 
cautiously. 

"Yes,  from  Mr.  Tarrant." 

"Elmer  hasn't  been  here  to-night,"  said  Arkansaw. 

"Do  you  know  where  he  is  ?    Is  he  in  town  ?" 

The  young  man  shook  his  head. 

"No,  I  don't  reckon  he  is,"  he  replied.  "They're  shut 
down,  you  know,  and  Spence  has  sort  of  given  the  crew  a 
vacation.  I  did  see  Elmer  this  morning.  He  was  starting 
some  place  in  the  old  flivver." 

"Do  you  know  where?" 

"I  did  hear,"  replied  Arkansaw  deprecatingly.  "He 
was  hitting  for  the  Country  Club." 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  225 

Marjorie  hesitated  a  moment. 

"That  young  man— Mr.  Tarrant's  driller?" 

"You  mean  Buck?" 

"Is  that  his  name  ?    Do  you  know  where  he  is  ?" 

"Buck,"  said  Arkansaw,  "was  with  Elmer.  I  reckon 
there  won't  be  any  reaching  those  boys  to-night,  miss. 
The  club's  across  the  river,  and  if  that  cloud-burst  left  a 
bridge  standing  across  the  Canyada  I'll  turn  the  box — I 
mean,  I  don't  want  a  cent." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Arkansaw,"  said  Marjorie.  "I  hope 
I  wasn't  too  much  trouble  to  you." 

"Trouble?"  drawled  Arkansaw,  while  his  sharp  eyes 
studied  her.  "Say,  miss,  I  am  a  friend  of  Tarrant's  too. 
I'm  a  gambler,  but  I  sure  'nough  am  one  of  Spence  Tar- 
rant's friends." 

"Mr.  Tarrant  gave  me  this  note  to  give  to  Elmer," 
said  Marjorie.  "His  affairs  are  in  a  terrible  crisis  and  I 
know  this  is  important,  and  in  a  hurry." 

"You  couldn't  give  me  a  hint  what  it's  about?"  sug- 
gested the  young  man. 

"I  haven't  read  it,  of  course,"  said  she  smiling. 

"Of  course,"  agreed  Arkansaw. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  Then  with  a  sudden 
decision  Marjorie  opened  the  note  and  read : 

DEAR  ELMER:  Get  a  crew  together  and  haul  the  boiler  and 
timbers  and  tools  for  the  rotary  rig  onto  the  88  Lease  to  night. 
Round  up  a  bunch  of  the  hard  ones  and  put  them  on  guard. 
When  you're  there  stick,  regardless,  till  you  hear  from  me. 

TARRANT. 

Without  a  moment  of  hesitation  she  passed  the  note  to 
Arkansaw.  He  read  it  and  kept  it. 

"Spence  ain't  round  himself  ?"  he  asked. 


226  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"No,"  she  said ;  "he  has  gone  to  Ranger  Falls." 

"Ranger  Falls  ?"  repeated  Arkansaw  skeptically.  "Sure 
'nough  ?  He  said  he  was  ?" 

"Yes.    He  said  he  was." 

"Well,"  drawled  the  gambler,  "if  Spence  said  he  was 
going  to  the  Falls  I  reckon  that's  where  he's  going.  Well, 
that  being  the  case,  miss,  you'd  better  let  me  handle  this." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  she  asked.    "Are  you ?" 

"Well,  somebody  sure  has  got  to  do  it  for  Spence,  ain't 
they?"  he  drawled. 

"But  can  you?" 

"I  reckon  Spence  has  got  other  friends  besides  me," 
was  the  quiet  response.  "Sure  has.  Friends  that  would 
go  to  hell  for  him.  I  beg  your  pardon." 

To  cover  an  unwonted  attack  of  confusion  the  young 
man  turned  to  the  boy  who  waited  near. 

"Red,  you  run  up  and  tell  Tex  to  run  things  for  awhile," 
he  directed.  "And  ask  Old  Man  Swanson  to  cash  in  and 
come  down.  You  excuse  me  now,  miss ;  I'll  chase  down 
to  Sore  Eye's  stable  and  make  him  round  up  his  bunch  of 
skinners." 

Marjorie  went  home,  but  she  did  not  sleep  until  far 
toward  morning.  It  was  not  until,  peering  from  her  win- 
dow, she  saw  and  heard  a  train  of  eight-horse  trucks, 
groaning  along  under  the  persuasion  of  profane  skinners, 
that  she  even  thought  of  retiring.  The  trucks  bore  a 
boiler,  timbers  and  tools,  and  they  were  moving  north, 
toward  the  lease  known  as  "88." 

"Somebody  must  have  warned  him !"  groaned  Dr.  Dick- 
inson when  he  became  informed  of  the  significance  of  this 
nocturnal  caravan.  "What  will  Mr.  Bodine  say?" 

"Is  that  all  that  matters?"  asked  Marjorie  wearily. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  227 

"But  Tarrant  won't  last  any  longer  no  matter  what  he 
does,"  continued  her  parent,  unheeding  of  her  question. 
"The  town-people  will  run  him  out  of  the  field.  They  may 
lynch  him.  They  ought  to,  the  swindler !" 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  father?"  demanded  the 
girl. 

"About  Tarrant  selling  Mr.  Bodine  his  No.  5  as  a  pro- 
ducing well!"  cried  her  father.  "That's  what  I'm  talking 
about.  And  all  the  time  Tarrant  knew  it  was  dry !" 

"Father,"  she  stammered,  "are  you  sure  that  is  true?" 

"Ask  anybody !"  he  flared.    "It  is  known  all  over  town !" 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

HP  ARRANT  sat  in  his  roadster  at  the  gasoline-filling 
-*-  station,  ready  to  start  the  moment  the  garage  man 
screwed  the  cap  on  his  fuel  tank.  Bodine's  car  had  gone. 
The  mark  of  its  huge  tires  was  still  deep  in  the  mud  of 
the  street.  Tarrant  considered  the  speed  of  his  small  car 
as  compared  to  that  of  the  promoter's  and  he  knew  the 
advantage  was  too  heavily  with  the  latter.  Bodine  would 
beat  him  to  Ranger  Falls  unless — Tarrant  half  rose  in  his 
seat.  Even  as  he  had  reached  to  throw  the  clutch  in  the 
racing  engine  his  alert  senses  had  caught  a  message  which 
had  not  yet  become  plain  to  others.  With  his  hand  on  the 
lever  he  sat  listening. 

Night  had  come,  suddenly  and  completely.  A  hollow 
whispering  of  wind  whipped  through  the  darkness,  more 
like  an  omen  than  a  wind.  It  began  to  rain.  A  few 
sporadic  dashes  of  rain  whirled  over  and  then  it  was  quiet 
for  a  spell.  Tarrant's  heart  leaped  and  a  grim  growl 
issued  from  his  clenched  teeth  as  he  sprang  to  the  ground. 
Staggering  under  a  sudden  gust  of  wind  he  turned  his 
face  to  the  west.  Many  miles  separated  Tin  Spout  from 
the  furious  norther  which  had  rolled  like  an  elemental 
avalanche  down  from  the  Rocky  Mountains  onto  the  coun- 
try lying  toward  Ranger  Falls,  but  the  tale  of  it  was  to 
be  read  from  the  fringes  of  the  storm.  Tarrant  knew 
from  experience  what  such  storms  did  to  the  river. 

"I'm  slowing  up,"  he  mused.    "A  norther  like  that,  and 

228 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  229 

thinking  of  getting  to  Ranger  Falls  with  a  car,  and  the 
Rio  Canyada  to  cross !" 

He  ran  to  Nine  Spot's  stable,  saddled  the  pony  and  rode 
out  of  town  at  a  walk.  He  did  not  follow  far  the  road 
out  upon  which  Bodine  and  Grogan  had  driven.  The  road 
was  a  ditch  of  liquid  mud  now,  through  which  any  car 
of  less  power  than  Bodine's  monster  would  have  hard 
work  moving.  Having  satisfied  himself  of  this  Tarrant 
pulled  Nine  Spot  off  the  road  and  pointed  straight  across 
the  open  country. 

To  one  knowing  the  lay  of  the  land  and  not  knowing 
Tarrant's  thoughts  this  must  have  seemed  as  the  worst  of 
folly,  for  the  road  which  he  quitted  ran  straight  to  Ranger 
Falls  and  the  route  which  he  was  taking  was  not  a  direct 
route  to  Ranger  Falls  at  all.  But  Tarrant  was  apparently 
content,  for  as  soon  as  Nine  Spot  was  warm  he  began  to 
ride  through  the  night  in  deadly  earnest.  He  left  the  last 
derrick  of  the  wildest  wildcatters  behind  and  sped  out 
onto  the  barren,  untouched  country  where  he  and  Nine 
Spot  were  alone  in  the  night.  To  the  westward  he  heard 
the  storm  raving  and  brawling  and  he  bent  his  head 
against  the  rain  and  swung  his  quirt  and  rode  on. 

Subconsciously  his  thoughts  reverted  to  the  life  of  his 
boyhood  cowboy  days  and  ran  in  the  channels  of  that  life. 
For  the  nonce  he  ceased  to  be  an  oilman  and  became  once 
more  a  rider  of  the  plains,  free  and  lonely  of  soul  and 
boyish  and  whimsical  of  mind.  The  silence  of  the  night 
and  the  vastness  of  space  about  him,  the  threatening,  un- 
starred  heaven  above  and  gloom-hidden  earth  beneath, 
wrought  their  spell  upon  him.  He  was  alone  in  an  im- 
mensity in  which  man  was  of  infinitesimal  proportions. 


230  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

The  loneliness  and  the  sense  of  man's  inconsequence  in 
the  face  of  the  vastness  of  the  signs  of  the  Creator,  work- 
ing its  spell  as  it  does  upon  the  lone  range  rider  at  night, 
crept  into  his  bones  with  the  rhythmic  thud  of  Nine  Spot's 
hoofs,  the  creak  of  leather,  and  the  wind-whipped  rain 
against  his  face.  He  thought  of  the  mission  he  was  on, 
and  subconsciously  his  thoughts  framed  themselves  into  a 
prayer. 

He  came  out  of  the  mood  with  a  start,  and  a  sense  of 
irreverence  oppressed  him  momentarily;  but  presently  he 
looked  about  and,  bowing  his  head,  said  "Amen." 

To  the  westward  the  brawl  of  the  storm  was  diminish- 
ing as  the  norther  raced  on  to  the  south  and  Tarrant  knew 
that  the  first  real  test  was  close  at  hand. 

"Get  on,  Nine  Spot !"  he  shouted,  and  rode  hard. 

As  he  topped  the  rolling  country  which  told  him  he  was 
approaching  the  great  bend  in  the  Rio  Canyada  he  slack- 
ened his  speed  and  began  to  conserve  his  mount's  energy 
for  the  test  that  lay  ahead.  A  flash  of  lightning  split  the 
night  and  he  noted  with  grim  satisfaction  that  his  blind 
ride  had  carried  him  less  than  a  mile  out  of  the  way.  A 
second  flash  of  light  pierced  the  gloom,  and  this  was  no 
lightning,  but  a  steady  beam  upon  the  earth's  surface 
which  came  racing  swiftly  up  the  river  road  from  the  east. 

Tarrant  growled  inarticulately  at  the  sight  of  it,  and 
dashed  for  the  spot  where  a  bridge  had  been  built  over  the 
bend.  The  great  searchlight  upon  Bodine's  automobile 
illumined  the  road  as  it  curved  toward  the  bridge  and  the 
big  car  came  on  like  a  comet.  Harsh  curses  came  from 
the  front  seat,  brakes  were  shut  down  sharply  and  the  car 
slid  to  a  stop  with  its  searchlight  gleaming  out  upon  a 


Tar  rant  of  Tin  Spout  231 

torrent  of  brown  tossing  water  where  the  bridge  had  been. 
Two  men  leaped  out. 

"Good  heavens !    This  bridge  is  gone,  too !" 

A  horse  galloped  into  the  beam  of  light  to  the  brink  of 
the  torrent. 

"Tarrant!"  screamed  Bodine. 

"Yes,  curse  you !"  roared  Tarrant.  "I'm  going  to  beat 
you  out!" 

"Shove  up  your  hands  1" 

"You  go  to  hell!" 

A  pressure  of  knees,  a  stroke  of  the  quirt;  the  horse 
leaped  from  the  bank,  out  of  the  beam  of  light.  There 
was  a  splash,  a  snort.  Somewhere  out  in  the  darkness 
Tarrant  and  Nine  Spot  were  swimming  for  their  lives. 

The  bed  of  the  Rio  Canyada  was  wide  at  this  point,  and 
now  it  was  bank  full  with  rushing  water.  With  the  reins 
over  his  arm  Tarrant  was  whipped  downstream  beside  his 
horse,  but  his  course  carried  him  toward  the  farther  shore. 
Where  the  water  jammed  up  against  the  high  bank  of  the 
bend  there  was  the  semblance  of  a  calm  and  here  he  made 
his  fight. 

"Nine  Spot!"  he  shouted,  blowing  the  water  from  his 
mouth.  "Come  on !" 

The  current  near  shore  snatched  victory  from  their 
grasp  and  swept  them  away  in  the  instant  their  feet 
touched  bottom.  The  branches  of  a  cottonwood  swept 
Tarrant's  face,  and  lunging  out  he  caught  a  hold.  Ages 
later  it  seemed,  after  a  heart-breaking  struggle,  man  and 
horse  dragged  themselves  out  of  the  clutch  of  the  waters 
and  lay  panting  on  the  farther  bank.  Tarrant  mounted 
when  strength  permitted.  He  turned  in  the  saddle  and 
shook  his  fist  at  the  beam  of  light  up  the  river. 


232  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"There,  damn  you !"  he  panted.  "Let's  see  you  do  that 
with  your  fancy  car !" 

A  small  rancher  on  the  west  side  of  the  Rio  Canyada 
near  Big  Bend  was  awakened  that  night  by  a  drenched 
rider  on  a  calico  horse  who  rode  up  and  kicked  on  the 
kitchen  door  and  demanded  instant  possession  of  the  mud- 
stained  flivver  that  stood  in  the  rancher's  yard. 

"I'm  Tarrant,  oilman,  from  Tin  Spout,"  said  the  rider. 
"Drive  me  to  the  nearest  fast  car  round  here.  Name  your 
own  price." 

"Where  do  you  come  from?"  demanded  the  startled 
rancher. 

"From  Tin  Spout." 

"You  couldn't.  Every  bridge  is  down  for  a  hundred 
miles  along  the  river." 

"I  swam  it.  The  pinto  and  I,"  was  the  reply.  "Have 
somebody  take  care  of  him.  Here's  the  money.  Name 
the  amount.  Now  get  in  and  drive." 

A  second  rancher,  who  possessed  a  fast  car,  was  awak- 
ened an  hour  later  and  pressed  into  service.  Through  the 
night  Tarrant  was  driven  over  the  long  road  to  Ranger 
Falls  and  as  daylight  broke  he  stood  pounding  upon  Jake 
Stringer's  door.  Stringer  opened  to  find  a  soaking,  torn 
apparition  with  the  light  of  a  determined  devil  in  his  eyes. 

"Jake,  I  want  to  renew  that  option  on  the  88  Ranch 
section,"  said  Tarrant. 

"You  woke  me  up  for  that?"  choked  Stringer.  "Are 
you  crazy,  Tarrant  ?" 

"You'll  see  if  you  try  to  hold  out,"  was  the  grim 
warning. 

"Hold  out!  Gosh  a'mighty,  I  only  got  sixty  days 
more." 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  233 

"Sixty  days  more ;  that's  what  I  want." 

"But  not  now,  Spence ;  I  got  to  think." 

"Right  now !"  roared  Tarrant.  "You  renew  my  option, 
Jake.  You  do  it  right  now,  or  so  help  me,  I'll  break  your 
neck!" 


CHAPTER  XXX 

travels  with  uncanny  swiftness  in  the  oil  fields. 
The  telephone  wires  and  the  mud-covered  cars  go 
everywhere,  and  such  news  as  this,  that  Tarrant  had 
reached  Ranger  Falls  in  spite  of  the  storm  and  high  water 
and  renewed  his  option  upon  the  once  despised  88  Lease, 
was  too  rich  to  remain  hidden. 

"Stuck  old  Jake  Stringer  up  with  a  six-gun  and  made 
him  come  through,  they  tell  me,"  was  one  version. 

"Stuck  up  your  grandmother's  sister!"  ran  the  counter 
story.  "Jake  and  him  had  breakfast  together." 

The  story  spread  like  the  light  of  dawn.  It  was  all  over 
town  in  a  hurry.  Such  telephone  and  telegraph  wires  as 
had  remained  up  after  the  storm  spread  the  tale  wherever 
they  reached.  The  drivers  of  the  first  service  cars  to  leave 
town  in  the  morning  carried  it  with  them  wherever  they 
went. 

Out  at  the  Country  Club  two  first-class  oilmen,  and 
first-class  poker  players,  with  bloodshot  eyes  and  white 
faces,  were  sitting  behind  large  stacks  of  valuable  chips 
representing  the  winnings  of  an  all-night  session  when  the 
news  was  borne  thither. 

"Tarrant's  started  something — on  the  88  Lease — had  a 
hell  of  a  time  over  it !" 

Buck  looked  up  from  his  cards,  looked  at  Elmer  and 
shoved  his  chips  across  the  table. 

"I'm  cashing  in,"  said  he. 

"Same  here,"  said  Elmer. 

234 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  235 

Out  where  stood  their  muddy  dilapidated  flivver  they 
again  looked  at  one  another. 

"Kick  me,  will  you,  Buck?"  pleaded  Elmer. 

"Kick  you?"  snorted  Buck  scornfully.  "You  figure 
your  useless  carcass  worth  wasting  a  kick  on  ?" 

"No,  coming  right  down  to  facts,  I  don't,"  said  the  old 
man.  "I  just  figured  you  might  do  it  out  of  charity, 
Buck." 

"You're  a  bum,"  growled  Buck. 

"I'll  say  I  am,  Buck." 

"I'm  another." 

"I  agree  there,  too,  Buck." 

"We're  a  couple  of  bums,"  continued  Buck.  "We  ain't 
worth  kicking." 

Elmer  nodded  gravely,  the  Adam's  apple  in  his  scrawny 
throat  rising  and  falling  with  each  movement. 

"It's  this  gambling  and  running  round  that's  ruined 
us,"  said  he.  "Always  knew  it  would.  My  old  daddy 
warned  me.  'Leave  the  cards  alone,'  said  he.  Buck — 
Buck,  you're  young.  Let  this  be  a  lesson  to  you.  I — I 
hope  Spence  knocks  hell  out  of  both  of  us  like  we  deserve." 

"We  got  to  get  back  to  Tin  Spopt  pronto,"  said  Buck. 

"You  darn  tooting  we  have,"  agreed  Elmer. 

"The  bridges  are  down." 

"Spence  got  across,  didn't  he?" 

"Get  some  gas,  get  some  gas!"  commanded  the  young 
man.  "Let's  get  to  the  river." 

"And  if  that  old  rio  is  still  up,"  said  Elmer,  "blamed 
if  I  don't  swim  her  or  drown  in  the  attempt." 

This  desperate  course,  however,  proved  to  be  unneces- 
sary. They  drove  to  a  point  near  where  the  railroad 
crossed  the  Rio  Canyada  and  there  they  found  workmen 


236  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

on  stout  rafts  recovering  pieces  of  trestlework  which  had 
been  gnawed  out  by  the  brawling  waters  of  the  river. 
Buck  talked  to  the  section  foreman  in  charge.  He  talked 
with  his  tongue  and  all  the  winning  eloquence  with  which 
he  was  gifted.  The  foreman  was  adamant. 

"No,"  he  said.    "Think  we're  running  a  ferry?" 

Then  Buck  talked  with  his  poker  winnings.  He  talked 
with  Elmer's  winnings.  The  foreman  eyed  the  bills  and 
shook  his  head.  He  eyed  them  again — and  held  out  his 
hand. 

"Seeing  it's  you,  boys,  I'll  help  you  out,"  he  grunted. 
"Here,  swing  that  raft  over  to  this  shore." 

The  flivver  and  its  two  occupants  were  ferried  across. 

"Thank  heaven  I  learned  how  to  play  cards !"  muttered 
Elmer  as  they  drove  toward  Tin  Spout.  "Buck,  let  this  be 
a  lesson  to  you.  When  you  play  cards  always  try  to  win." 

"We'll  go  right  to  the  office  and  take  our  medicine," 
said  Buck  when  they  rolled  into  Tin  Spout.  "Me — I'll 
take  anything  he  hands  us." 

"Same  here,"  agreed  Elmer,  as  they  swung  in  sight  of 
the  office.  "Hello!  The  door  is  shut  Who  is  that  stand- 
ing on  the  steps,  Buck?" 

"It's  a  skirt,"  said  Buck,  glancing  toward  the  building. 

"It  ain't!"  said  Elmer  emphatically.  "It's  Miss  Mar- 
jorie." 

Marjorie  did  not  smile  as  they  approached.  She  looked 
at  them  closely  while  they  greeted  her  respectfully  and 
alighted  from  the  car. 

"Have  you  seen  Mr.  Tarrant?"  she  asked  coldly. 

"Haven't  seen  him,  no,  Miss  Marjorie/'  replied  Elmer. 
"Heard  of  him  though." 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  237 

She  waited  as  if  expecting  him  to  explain  further.  She 
was  reluctant  to  ask  any  more  questions. 

"What  did  you  hear?"  she  said  finally. 

"Heard  he  was  starting  something  on  the  88  Lease," 
was  the  reply.  "Heard  he  got  to  the  Falls  and  got  a 
renewal  from  old  Jake." 

"Is  that  all  you  have  heard  ?"  she  asked. 

"Sure  is,  Miss  Marjorie,"  said  Elmer.  "Me  and  Buck 
come  a- jumping  soon  as  we  heard." 

She  studied  them  carefully.  Their  faces  were  hard  and 
haggard  and  marked  by  the  life  they  led,  but  there  could 
be  no  mistaking  the  honesty  and  sincerity  that  showed  in 
their  eyes. 

"Yes,"  she  said  softly,  "I  see  that  you  don't  know  any- 
thing about  it." 

"We  was  hoping  you  might  tell  us,"  suggested  Buck. 

"About  what?"  she  said. 

"About  this  88  Lease  business,"  replied  the  driller. 
"We  thought  mebbe  you  heard  something." 

"Oh,  that,"  said  Marjorie  deprecatingly.  "Yes,  Mr. 
Tarrant  left  a  note  for  you,  Elmer.  It  directed  you  to 
get  an  outfit  onto  the  lease  at  once." 

Elmer  whistled  softly. 

"That  will  be  a  job !"  he  said.  "The  Syndicate  crowd 
will  corral  every  truck  and  team  in  the  market." 

"The  outfit  is  on  the  lease,"  said  Marjorie. 

"What?    Spence— did  he  get  back?" 

"No,"  replied  the  girl  slowly.  "I  won't  take  time  to 
explain,  but  some  people  who — didn't  understand — were 
friendly  to  him,  and — the  outfit  went  out  last  night." 

"Elmer,"  said  Buck,  "that's  where  we  belong  right 
now." 


238  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"This  note  which  was  addressed  to  you,  Elmer,  directed 
you  to  get  on  the  lease  and  remain  in  spite  of  everything 
until  Mr.  Tarrant  returned,"  she  went  on. 

"Sure!  To  hold  her  down  against  all  comers!"  cried 
Elmer  repentantly.  "Crank  up,  Buck." 

She  stepped  back  as  they  prepared  to  depart.  She 
waited  until  they  were  seated  in  the  car.  Then  impulsively 
she  stepped  forward. 

"Will  you  do  me  a  very  great  favor  ?"  she  asked. 

There  was  a  note  of  pleading  in  her  tone  though  she 
strove  to  suppress  it. 

"Miss  Marjorie,"  said  Elmer  earnestly,  "we  sure  will." 

"Will  you  promise  me  to  tell  the  truth,"  she  said. 

"Sure  will." 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  then  with  sudden  determina- 
tion: 

"Did  Mr.  Tarrant  know  that  No.  5  was  a  dry  hole 
before  he  sold  it  on  the  Exchange  that  night  ?" 

"He  sure  did,  Miss  Marjorie,"  was  the  reply,  "or  he 
wouldn't  have  sold  it." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  simply. 

"What's  up,  Miss  Marjorie?"  said  Elmer.  "Anything 
we  can  do?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  resolutely,  after  a  moment  of  hesita- 
tion, "if  anyone  should  ask,  you  might  remember  that  I 
told  you  I  am  leaving  Tin  Spout  for  good." 

The  first  train  to  reach  Tin  Spout  from  Ranger  Falls 
arrived  at  nine  in  the  evening,  and  Tarrant  leaped  off 
before  the  train  had  come  to  a  full  stop.  The  memory 
of  Marjorie's  hand  on  his  shoulder  the  night  before  was 
singing  in  his  heart.  She  had  come  to  warn  him!  She 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  239 

had  helped  him!  In  a  few  short  hours  the  hope  and 
desire  of  youth  had  been  born  anew  in  him.  The  reason 
for  her  conduct  was  incomprehensible  to  him.  Had  she 
forgotten  or  forgiven  his  brutality  that  day  when  he 
picked  her  up  and  kissed  her?  Did  her  conduct  indicate 
something  more  than  mere  friendliness? 

These  were  problems  that  occupied  Spence  Tarrant's 
mind  as,  with  the  young  blood  leaping  in  his  veins,  he 
strode  from  the  train  toward  the  boarding  house  of  Mar- 
jorie  and  her  father.  For  the  moment  he  had  no  thoughts 
of  anything  else.  His  feet  scarcely  touched  the  ground 
as  he  walked.  He  was  oblivious  to  the  glances  that  fol- 
lowed him,  oblivious  to  the  people  who  stepped  aside  as 
he  approached  and  stared  after  him  with  black  looks  as 
he  passed.  He  was  buoyed  up  by  the  thoughts  which  had 
inspired  him  through  the  night.  He  had  won  one  strug- 
gle solely  because  of  her  inspiration.  He  knew  full  well 
that  the  real  struggle,  the  grim  fight  against  the  power 
of  the  outraged  Syndicate,  was  about  to  begin.  The 
knowledge  did  not  trouble  him.  The  wondrous  new  hope 
in  his  heart  was  like  an  armour.  And  with  his  head  high 
and  the  light  of  fervour  in  his  eyes  he  knocked  at  the 
boarding-house  door. 

"She's  gone,"  Mrs.  Hemp  said  at  the  sight  of  him. 
Her  tone  was  curt.  "She  left  this  afternoon  for  Chicago. 
She  ain't  ever  coming  back." 

The  door  slammed,  and  it  was  over. 

Tarrant  recalled  but  little  of  the  remainder  of  the  night. 
There  was  a  hazy  recollection  of  visiting  the  station  and 
questioning  a  sleepy  agent.  The  agent's  manner,  which 
usually  was  genially  respectful  toward  him,  was  strange 


240  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

and  cold,  but  Tarrant's  faculties  were  too  much  numbed 
by  the  words  he  had  heard  to  detect  any  difference. 

"Went  north  on  No.  i,"  said  the  agent.  "Her  and  the 
Doc'.  Tickets  to  Chicago.  Trunks  marked  to  Lakeside 
Hotel.  Anything  else?" 

Somehow  he  got  out  to  the  lease.  He  did  not  remember 
how  or  when.  He  concealed  his  hurt  skilfully.  Neither 
Elmer  nor  Buck  was  conscious  of  any  change  in  him.  He 
asked  no  questions  and  volunteered  no  information. 
Partly  from  instinct  and  training  and  partly  in  a  fury  of 
frustrated  youth  he  at  once  took  up  the  task  of  locating 
the  new  well.  Throughout  the  close  warm  night  he 
worked,  silently  and  grimly  and  in  the  same  manner  Buck 
and  Elmer  worked  with  him.  Dawn  came.  The  sun 
spread  rosily  over  the  drab  landscape,  so  that  Bodine's 
spies  from  their  hiding  places  on  near-by  rises  could  watch 
the  activity  at  the  new  well. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

"D  Y  the  terms  of  the  renewed  option  he  had  sixty  days 
•*-*  in  which  to  bring  in  a  producing  well  or  relinquish 
his  claim  to  the  future  of  the  lease.  Tarrant  now  conse- 
crated himself  entirely  to  this  task. 

'•'Boy,"  Jake  Stringer  had  said  upon  signing  the  option, 
"you  got  as  much  chance  to  finish  that  hole  as  a  man  has 
starting  to  build  him  a  herd  with  one  old  steer." 

"I  have  heard,"  retorted  Tarrant,  "that  several  men 
have  got  together  a  herd  with  nothing  but  a  hot  iron  to 
start  with." 

"Mebbe  so,"  agreed  Stringer,  "but  they  didn't  have  the 
Pan-National  Syndicate  on  the  prod  against  them.  You 
play  'em  close  to  your  chest  from  now  on,  d'you  hear, 
Spence  ?  You've  busted  into  their  corral  a  couple  of  times 
and  they  don't  'low  to  let  you  form  the  habit.  Keep  shet 
of  Grogan.  You  know  what  I  mean.  You've  got  your- 
self into  a  real  game  now.  They'll  sure  call  for  a  show- 
down." 

Tarrant  realised  better  than  anyone  else  how  true  were 
Stringer's  words.  He  had  staked  all  on  a  desperate  play. 
Against  him  there  were  desperate  men,  Bodine  and  Gro- 
gan and  their  associates  and  satellites.  One  or  the  other 
side  must  go  under.  The  Tin  Spout  field  did  not  have 
room  for  him  and  Bodine.  His  one  chance  to  win  was  to 
bring  in  a  good  well  within  the  time  limit.  If  he  accom- 
plished this  he  could  clinch  a  hold  on  the  88  Lease.  If  he 
struck  the  great  pool,  which  his  faith  and  knowledge  told 

241 


242  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

him  was  within  the  realm  of  possibility,  the  Syndicate 
would  be  done  for.  Not  a  foot  of  the  new  field  would  be 
in  their  possession.  A  true  boom  would  be  born  and 
Pan-National  stock  would  collapse  like  a  bubble.  Where- 
fore it  was  improbable  that  the  Syndicate  would  remain 
idle  and  allow  him  to  complete  his  test. 

Tarrant's  expression  grew  calm  and  hard  as  he  con- 
templated the  situation.  He  had  good  friends  in  the  field, 
but  the  Syndicate  was  in  control  for  the  present.  Virtually 
he  was  an  Ishmaelite.  Such  hands  as  were  not  against 
him  were  strictly  neutral.  He  was  forced  to  bring  his  rig 
builders  in  from  far  away  where  news  of  the  struggle  had 
not  been  spread.  When  the  builders  learned  of  the  trouble 
they  balked  and  he  held  them  to  the  contract  by  sheer  force 
of  will  and  determination.  His  first  act  on  returning  to 
the  lease  was  to  build  a  twelve-foot  stockade  round  the 
site  of  the  well.  His  shotgun  guards  patrolled  outside  the 
fence  day  and  night,  and  the  rig  builders  were  not  allowed 
to  depart  until  the  derrick  was  complete.  His  hardness 
won  the  hard  workmen  he  employed.  The  carpenters 
shook  hands  as  they  departed  upon  the  completion  of  their 
job. 

The  rotary  drill  with  its  cumbersome  machinery  was 
hung  in  place.  Because  of  the  greater  speed  with  which 
this  type  of  drill  bit  through  the  earth,  he  had  decided  to 
use  the  rotary  system  until  he  approached  the  depth  where 
he  hoped  to  find  the  pay  sand.  Then  a  change  would  be 
made  to  cable  tools  and  the  drilling  would  continue  slowly 
and  with  great  care. 

The  steam  was  turned  on  and  the  machinery  began  to 
rumble. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  243 

"Spud  in,"  said  Tarrant,  and  the  drilling  of  the  well 
began. 

Tarrant  selected  his  drilling  crew  with  extra  care.  El- 
mer and  Buck  were  each  placed  in  charge  of  a  "tower,"  as 
the  different  shifts  are  called,  and  upon  their  shoulders 
he  placed  the  responsibility  of  seeing  that  the  work  went 
on  as  if  he  were  always  present.  His  deadly  determina- 
tion imparted  itself  to  them  and  dominated  their  careless 
spirits.  The  lanky  Elmer  and  the  boyish  Buck  alike  grew 
grim,  tense,  decisive.  A  tool  dresser  under  Buck's  eye 
allowed  a  cracked  drill  bit  to  go  back  to  the  driller ;  Buck 
and  he  fought  seriously  and  silently,  and  in  the  end  Buck's 
youth  told  and  the  principle  of  perfect  work  was  definitely 
and  brutally  imprinted  in  the  tool  dresser's  mind. 

A  Mexican  derrick  man  committed  the  carelessness  of 
beginning  his  climb  to  the  crown  block  with  the  wisp  of  a 
cigarette  smouldering  beneath  his  scant  mustache,  and 
Elmer  leaped  up  after  him  with  his  knife  drawn.  The 
Mexican  jumped,  and  lay  on  his  back  for  a  month  with  a 
broken  leg;  and  other  workmen  were  careful  to  avoid 
such  lapses  of  memory  in  the  future. 

Tarrant,  during  these  days,  was  a  cold  fury  unleashed. 
Like  a  tiger  guarding  his  lair  he  prowled  ubiquitously 
about,  his  eyes  strained  for  danger  signs,  his  expression 
a  defiance  and  a  menace.  Hampered  as  he  was  by  a  ring 
of  enemies  and  purchased  or  intimidated  neutrals,  the 
task  of  keeping  the  drill  going  was  one  of  infinite  detail 
and  petty  worry.  The  power  of  the  Syndicate  was  made 
evident  by  his  complete  isolation.  Tarrant  had  plenty  of 
friends,  and  they  were  not  of  the  sort  who  would  have 
been  turned  away  or  frightened  by  threats,  but  the  golden 
promise  of  the  Syndicate  was  too  much  for  them. 


244  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

In  the  madness  of  the  scramble  and  clutching  of  sudden 
wealth,  the  freaky  turns  of  fortune's  whims  which  brought 
wealth  unexpectedly  or  took  it  away  likewise,  the  instinct 
was  not  to  pause  and  analyse  ethics  or  character.  Men 
saw  things  as  they  were  there  and  at  that  particular  time. 
They  saw  that  fortune  cared  not  in  the  least  for  the  in- 
dividual upon  whom  it  poured  its  richest  favours.  They 
knew  that  only  the  weak  whined  if  the  game  went  against 
them.  So  chancy  a  game  was  it,  so  uncertain  the  balance 
which  brought  gold  or  ruin,  that  the  single  aim  in  all 
minds  was  to  leap  and  grasp  with  all  power  the  chance  for 
rich  returns  the  instant  it  appeared. 

This  was  what  the  Pan-National  Syndicate  appeared 
to  offer.  It  had  planned,  predicted  and  promised  a  boom 
for  Tin  Spout,  and  the  boom  had  appeared.  It  had  prom- 
ised money  to  its  members  in  return  for  uncertain  leases, 
and  the  money  had  begun  to  trickle  in.  It  predicted  that 
Tin  Spout  would  become  a  city  like  Ranger  Falls ;  it  prom- 
ised more  money — great,  certain  floods  of  gold — as  soon 
as  the  organisation  machinery  was  complete,  and  what 
good  reasons  were  there  for  doubting  that  these  promises, 
too,  would  be  fulfilled?  The  promise  was  too  great,  too 
dazzling.  Men  who  could  not  have  been  frightened  from 
Tarrant's  side  were  lured  by  the  golden  prospect,  as  metals 
are  lured  by  the  magnet's  power. 

Tarrant  had  to  go  it  alone.  He  did.  The  cold  vigi- 
lance of  his  eye  and  the  bleak  tightness  of  his  lips  pre- 
vented many  from  hindering  though  they  would  not  help. 
His  coup  in  assembling  materials  for  the  rig,  and  ma- 
terials and  the  initial  string  of  casing  and  rushing  them 
onto  the  lease  at  night  alone  had  enabled  him  to  make  a 
start.  After  that  the  boycott  began  to  work  against  him. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  245 

His  orders  for  more  casing  were  canceled.  A  new  drill 
stem  and  jar  which  he  had  ordered  lay  rusting  beneath  a 
foot  of  mud  where  it  had  been  buried  upon  its  arrival  at 
Tin  Spout.  Oil  for  fuel  for  the  boiler  was  shut  off. 
Water  for  drilling  was  a  difficult  matter.  And  the  re- 
placement of  worn-out  and  broken  tools  and  material  was 
a  constant  struggle. 

The  job  went  on.  Tarrant  got  what  he  needed.  He 
bought  and  borrowed  what  he  could;  what  he  could  not 
buy  or  borrow  he  took.  There  was  no  question  of  ethics 
involved.  In  the  phrenetic  scramble  to  drive  a  hole  in  the 
earth  deep  enough  to  reach  the  oil  strata  it  was  universally 
acknowledged  that  all  other  considerations  were  subordi- 
nated to  the  simple  principle  of  accomplishment. 

Men  grasped  madly  at  whatever  tools  they  needed  and 
could  find.  The  fact  that  these  tools  might  belong  to 
someone  else  had  only  a  slight  bearing  on  the  matter,  pro- 
vided they  could  be  secured  and  used.  Title  to  ownership 
of  material  was  a  tenuous  matter;  possession  and  use, 
everything.  At  one  time,  later  on,  when  the  true  oil  boom 
came  to  Tin  Spout,  there  was  under  control  of  the  courts 
over  a  million  dollars'  worth  of  well  material,  title  to 
which  had  been  distressingly  clouded  by  continued  stealing 
and  restealing.  Men  were  in  a  frenzy  of  fever,  and  they 
recognised  no  law  save  the  law  of  accomplishment. 

Tarrant's  job  needed  sundry  material,  and  being  ruth- 
lessly boycotted  by  the  power  of  the  Syndicate,  he  became 
ruthless  himself,  and  his  job  got  the  material  it  needed. 
Afterwards,  after  the  desperate  drive  and  accomplishment 
were  a  matter  of  local  history,  he  would  retrace  his  way 
and  settle  for  the  wreckage.  He  did  not  think  of  that  at 
present,  however.  The  man  who  had  material  which  the 


246  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

job  needed  and  who  refused  to  sell  it,  was  to  him  a  nat- 
ural enemy.  He  treated  him  as  such.  Being  a  little 
stronger,  a  little  more  ruthless  and  a  great  deal  more 
determined  than  these  for  the  nonce  natural  enemies,  he 
usually  had  his  way.  And  his  conscience  troubled  him 
exactly  as  much  as  a  tiger  is  troubled  over  obstacles  which 
he  cuffs  out  of  his  trail. 

The  progress  of  the  well  was  painfully  slow  despite  the 
speed  with  which  the  rotary  drill  gnawed  its  way  through 
the  earth.  A  series  of  accidents  served  to  delay  the  work 
when  it  had  got  fairly  under  way.  In  fact  Tarrant's  Wild- 
cat No.  6  fell  heir  to  all  the  misfortune  which  makes  oil 
drilling  so  speculative  a  proposition.  A  great  bowlder 
was  struck  in  a  formation  where  no  amount  of  geological 
information  or  experience  could  have  foreseen  its  pres- 
ence. Immediately  after  this  obstacle  had  been  overcome 
a  string  of  casing  buckled  in  the  hole.  The  two  accidents 
and  the  consequent  strain  and  worry  temporarily  shattered 
the  morale  of  the  crew.  A  drill  bit  was  jarred  off  and 
work  was  shut  down  while  the  crew  fished  for  the  tool. 

Days  of  precious  time  were  lost  in  this  manner.  The 
period  of  the  option  was  rapidly  dwindling  away  and  the 
well  log  showed  that  the  drill  was  far  from  the  depth  at 
which  Tarrant  hoped  to  find  the  pay  sand.  Elmer  and 
Buck  counted  the  days  which  remained  for  them  to  com- 
plete the  well  in,  and  estimated  the  number  of  feet  and  the 
formation  through  which  they  must  drill. 

"We  will  make  the  grade,"  said  Buck  decisively  when 
their  estimate  had  been  made. 

"How  come?"  demanded  Elmer. 

"It  comes  this  way,"  retorted  the  driller.  "We've  done 
drew  all  the  hard  luck  that  was  out  against  us.  I  don't 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  247 

say  that  from  now  on  it  will  all  come  our  way,  but  the 
percentage  is  in  our  favor.  Give  us  an  even  break  and  on 
the  eighth  we'll  be  down  to  that  level  where  Spence  figures 
the  pay  to  lay  here.  That  will  give  us  a  margin  of  five 
days  according  to  my  figuring." 

"Five  days!"  piped  Elmer  excitedly.  "You  sure  of 
that,  Buck?  For  Mike's  sake  get  that  calendar — let's  see 
the  mark — gosh-a-whistling,  you're  right!" 

"Going  nuts?"  demanded  Buck  calmly. 

"On  the  thirteenth!"  exclaimed  Elmer.  "Look  at  the 
calendar  yourself.  Spence's  option  expires  at  noon  on  the 
thirteenth.  Darn  the  luck!  We're  licked.  There  won't 
be  anything  in  that  sand  even  if  we  do  hit  it  in  time. 
Thirteen  on  the  option  means  no  oil  in  the  well." 

At  seventeen  hundred  feet  the  change  to  the  cable-tool 
system  of  drilling  was  made.  Buck's  confidence  in  the 
future  seemed  justified.  The  hard  luck  appeared  to  have 
departed.  The  formation  now  was  easily  drilled.  The 
great  steel  bit,  with  tons  of  metal  driving  it,  went  on  down 
and  down  without  any  untoward  delays  and  the  casing1 
followed  it  without  accident. 

As  the  drill  went  down  the  price  of  crude  oil  continued 
to  go  up.  The  demand  for  gasoline,  even  at  unheard-of 
prices,  was  insatiable.  High-gravity  crude  went  to  two 
dollars  and  seventy-five  cents  a  barrel.  Refiners  were 
fighting  one  another  for  the  stuff.  Bribes  and  premiums 
paid  to  well  owners  became  the  rule.  Crude  oil  jumped 
to  three  dollars  a  barrel,  and  in  the  Northern  Texas  fields 
refiners  were  paying  a  premium  of  twenty-five  cents  a 
barrel. 

"If  the  boss  hits  it  now,"  said  Buck,  "he's  a  made  man." 


248  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"He  won't,"  persisted  Elmer  positively.  "Thirteen  on 
the  option  means  no  oil  in  the  well." 

Tarrant  himself  was  at  the  well  day  and  night  now. 
Each  time  that  the  tools  were  raised  and  the  hole  bailed 
he  analysed  the  slush  as  it  was  poured  into  the  pool.  He 
found  little  to  encourage  him.  The  bailer  showed  the  old 
formation  of  shale  and  gumbo  alternating,  and  clay,  with 
no  trace  of  the  lime  caprock  which  he  expected  to  find 
overlying  the  oil  sand.  With  the  true  oilman's  faith,  how- 
ever, each  run  of  the  bailing  bucket  was  a  new  beginning. 
What  had  gone  before  was  forgotten.  His  faith  was  un- 
shaken. Any  run  of  the  bailer  might  be  the  one  to  justify 
this  faith. 

The  first  serious  blow  to  him  came  when  the  log  indi- 
cated that  the  well  was  at  the  depth  where  he  had  found 
the  dry  sand  in  Well  No.  5,  and  still  no  showing  of  cap- 
rock  or  sand.  Was  it  possible  that  he  had  erred  and  lo- 
cated the  well  too  far  to  the  north?  He  checked  up  his 
figures  and  appraised  the  location  for  the  dozenth  time 
and  found  them  all  as  he  wished. 

"We  must  have  got  outside  that  deep  sand,"  suggested 
Buck. 

"No,"  replied  Tarrant,  "it  lies  deeper  than  I  figured. 
Keep  drilling." 

They  drilled  to  a  depth  of  two  thousand  feet  and  still 
there  was  no  change  in  the  formation. 

"Keep  drilling,"  was  the  order. 

They  went  to  2100  feet,  an  unheard-of  depth  in  that 
field. 

"We're  way  deeper  than  any  pay  sand  in  this  part  of 
the  country  now,"  reminded  Buck. 

"We'll  go  another  hundred  feet,"  was  the  response. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  249 

"Then  we  have  to  scare  up  a  new  string  of  casing,"  an- 
nounced Buck. 

This  was  serious.  The  supply  of  casing  had  been  prac- 
tically shut  off  to  Tarrant.  The  Syndicate's  influence  had 
served  to  cancel  or  delay  his  orders,  or  to  divert  to  other 
fields  casing  which  was  being  shipped  to  him.  The  supply 
of  pipe  on  hand  would  have  been  sufficient  had  the  sand 
been  found  at  the  expected  depth.  He  had  been  unable  to 
procure  any  more  at  the  time.  But  more  casing  must  be 
had.  There  was  no  other  solution  to  the  problem. 

"How  much  have  you  got  left,  Buck?"  he  asked. 

"A  single  length,"  replied  the  driller. 

"Better  let  me  and  Buck  go  see  if  we  can  corral  some, 
boss,"  suggested  Elmer.  "You  are  too  well  known.  Me 
and  Buck  now,  somebody  might  let  us  have  some." 

"You  are  right,"  agreed  Tarrant.  "Take  the  truck 
and  go  to  it." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

"CALMER  and  Buck  rolled  away  toward  town  in  silence. 
•*--'  They  had  both  lost  faith  in  the  new  well.  They  felt 
their  work  to  be  useless.  It  was  not  ethical  to  express 
themselves  to  this  effect,  however,  so  they  rode  for  a  long 
time  in  silence.  At  last  Buck  swore  at  the  condition  of 
the  road,  and  the  spell  was  broken. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Elmer,  rousing  himself,  "the  road's  like 
the  rest  of  this  country  now ;  she's  plumb  ruined.  It  used 
to  be  different.  I  was  here  as  a  young  fellow,  riding  range 
for  the  old  88  Ranch  when  she  was  a  ranch.  Boy,  you 
could  start  your  pony  in  any  direction  and  go  to  sleep  and 
ride  all  day  without  running  into  anything  high  enough  to 
stop  you.  S'pose  you'd  get  a  little  too  much  in  town  at 
night  and  the  boys  had  to  load  you.  You'd  get  out  of 
town  and  pick  out  the  star  over  the  ranch  house  and  head 
straight  for  that  star.  If  you'd  see  two  stars  you'd  head 
for  between  them.  Then  all  you  had  to  do  was  to  stay 
in  the  saddle  and  the  pony  would  do  the  rest.  There 
wasn't  any  derricks  or  cities  or  skyscrapers — they  wasn't 
even  a  fence  to  hinder  you.  Just  head  for  the  right  star, 
like  a  sailor,  and  you'd  come  home  snoring." 

"Suppose  there  wasn't  any  stars,"  said  Buck,  the  realist. 

Elmer  regarded  him  with  a  grieved  expression. 

"I  knew  a  young  fellow  named  Buck  once  who  was  a 
good  party,"  he  said.  "Knew  enough  not  to  show  his 
ignorance  by  interrupting  his  elders.  No,  gents,  you  can't 
tell  by  the  name  what  kind  of  formation  a  man's  made  of." 

250 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  251 

"I  wish  we  couldn't  get  any  casing,"  said  Buck  suddenly. 

"Meaning?" 

"Then  we  would  have  to  stop  drilling,"  explained  the 
driller.  "Spence  has  gone  bugs  on  that  hole.  She's  a 
dead  one.  I  hate  to  see  him  shove  any  more  money  down 
her." 

"He  don't  drink,"  retorted  Elmer ;  "he  won't  go  to  town 
and  gamble.  Let  him  spend  his  money  as  he  likes.  That's 
all  I  ever  found  the  stuff  good  for." 

"That's  because  you're  so  ignorant,  Elmer,"  explained 
Buck.  "Me — when  I  see  money  I  see  silk  shirts  and  jew- 
elry. That's  what  education  does  for  you,  Elmer." 

"Yep,"  agreed  the  old  man,  "and  girls." 

"Ignorance  again,"  said  the  driller  sorrowfully.  "Fem- 
inine company  is  uplifting  and  refining.  Look  at  me; 
then  gaze  on  you.  What  could  be  plainer?  Don't  speak 
whereof  you  don't  know." 

"Ho!"  snorted  the  old  man.  "Nobody  knows  nothing 
about  girls,  if  it  comes  to  that.  I  came  scand'lous  nigh 
being  married  by  one  of  them  on  account  of  that  once. 
Girl  named  Carrie.  Her  dad  was  a  rig  builder  down  in 
the  Corsicana  field  and  Carrie  was  doing  the  cooking  for 
the  crew.  She  takes  to  me,  and  to  warn  her  away  I  let  the 
rumour  spread  round  and  reach  her  ears  that  I'm  a  rene- 
gade Mormon  and  deserted  three  wives  back  in  Utah. 
Hanged  if  it  didn't  make  Carrie  aspire  to  be  Number 
Four !  I  traveled.  Left  four  days'  pay  due  me,  too." 

"Poor  Carrie!"  yawned  Buck.  "She'll  never  know 
what  she  missed." 

They  jolted  into  Tin  Spout  and  as  a  strategic  manceuver 
parked  their  truck  at  the  rear  of  a  long  shed  in  which  a 
pile  of  Syndicate  casing  was  stored. 


252  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

An  oil  gauger,  passing  by,  glanced  at  them  and,  recog- 
nizing them,  quickly  turned  his  eyes  elsewhere. 

"Hello,  Bud!"  called  Buck. 

The  man  looked  back  at  them,  spat  and  went  on. 

"Is  that  bird  deaf  ?"  demanded  the  driller. 

"He  wasn't  the  last  time  I  see  him,"  replied  Elmer. 

The  man  disappeared  round  the  corner.  Presently  a 
head  peered  round  the  bank  building,  looked  at  them,  and 
disappeared. 

"Let's  go  down  to  Chili  Joe's  and  get  a  cup  of  coffee," 
suggested  Buck. 

"Coffee!"  muttered  Elmer.  "Can't  you  see  something's 
up?  We  ain't  as  popular  as  we  used  to  be,  for  some 
reason." 

"Reckon  not?"  said  the  younger  man.  "Then  I  reckon 
we'll  be  finding  out  why." 

"There's  the  law,"  said  Elmer,  indicating  the  town 
marshal  who  was  crossing  the  street. 

"Hey,  John  Law !"  cried  Buck.    "Hold  on  a  minute." 

The  officer  halted,  looked  at  them,  turned  his  head  and 
went  on  his  way. 

"Well,"  said  Buck,  "we  ain't  wanted,  anyway." 

Elmer's  shaggy  brows  were  drawn  down  over  his  eyes. 

"I  feel,"  said  he,  "something  like  I  did  the  time  I  wan- 
dered into  a  camp  of  cholas  down  in  Sonora  just  when 
they  were  figuring  how  to  bump  me  off." 

"Speaking  personally,"  said  Buck,  "I'm  getting  a  little 
peeved." 

"You  hang  onto  your  shirt,"  retorted  Elmer.  "This 
is  something  that  requires  careful  trailing." 

"There's  Lafe,"  said  Buck,  espying  the  garage  man 
across  the  street.  "He's  a  buddy  of  mine.  Come  on." 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  253 

Lafe  was  not  pleased  at  the  sight  of  his  buddy.  He  did 
not  return  Buck's  salutation. 

"What  in  blazes  is  up,  Lafe?"  demanded  the  driller. 
"We  ain't  poison." 

Lafe  swung  round  on  him  angrily. 

"Don't  play  me  for  a  damn  fool,  Buck,  please,"  he  said 
hotly.  "You  knew  it  was  dry.  How  much  did  Tarrant 
pay  you  to  help  his  game  along  ?" 

Buck  and  Elmer  stared  at  one  another. 

"You  ain't  talking  to  me,  Lafe,"  said  the  driller.  "Ex- 
plain a  little,  please." 

"Tarrant  sold  Mr.  Bodine  No.  5  for  a  guaranteed  well, 
didn't  he  ?"  came  the  reply.  "Bodine  gave  the  town  people 
first  crack  at  the  stock.  Naturally  everybody  bought. 
Tarrant  worked  the  play  up  slick,  I'll  say  that  for  him. 
Building  a  good  reputation  to  cash  in  on.  Nobody  was 
on  to  him  until  Bodine  showed  him  up.  Tarrant  knew  it 
was  a  dry  hole,  outside  the  field.  Let  his  friends  get 
stuck!  He  was  wise  in  staying  away;  he  knew  he  was 
through  here.  Bodine  is  big  enough  to  make  good.  Issu- 
ing Pan-National  stock  share  for  share  of  the  swindle.  I 
reckon  you  wasn't  in  it,  Buck.  Reckon  Tarrant  kept  it 
all  for  himself,  same  as  he  did  of  what  he  got  out  of 
Wayne." 

"Don't  hit  him,  Buck,"  said  Elmer  sternly.  "Lafe  has 
lost  some  money  and  it  hurts." 

"It  ain't  just  losing  the  money  that  hurts,"  said  the 
garage  man.  "You  boys  know  the  kind  of  faith  folks  had 
in  Spence  Tarrant.  He  meant  something  to  us.  Then 
the  way  he  fooled  that  girl.  Broke  her  all  up  when  she 
learned  what  he  was,  they  tell  me.  Her  pop  had  to  take 


254  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

her  away.  Tarrant  had  played  himself  up  so  fine  with  her 
she  actually  helped  him  get  that  new  option,  though  it 
seems  her  pop  had  sized  up  Tarrant  all  the  time  and  had 
warned  her  how  he  was  bound  to  turn  out.  Dickinson 
put  every  dollar  he  could  borrow  into  that  swindle  of 
Tarrant's.  From  what  I  hear,  though,  Bodine  has  con- 
soled them  considerable.  Bodine  will  have  it  all  his  own 
way  there  now.  Too  bad  about  Tarrant.  He  sure  is 
through  here." 

"Buck,  you  keep  your  shirt  on,  I  tell  you,"  admonished 
Elmer.  "This  is  something  for  Spence  to  handle  his  black 
self.  Bodine  has  put  a  trick  over.  Lafe,  there'll  be  dead 
men  over  this." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  responded  Lafe.  "A  man  who  will 
pull  tricks  like  that  isn't  the  kind  to  fight." 

"Meaning  Tarrant?"  flared  Buck.  "He  didn't  pull  any 
swindle.  And  fight?  Man,  he'll  come  in  and  shoot  day- 
light through  Bodine." 

"I'll  believe  when  I  see  it,"  was  the  reply. 

"We're  in  after  casing,  Buck,"  reminded  Elmer. 

Lafe  shook  his  head. 

"Don't  you  boys  try  to  get  anything  in  this  town,"  he 
said  grimly.  "I'm  saying  that  friendly,  mind  you.  I 

know  you're  all  right,  but  there's  folks  here You  go 

hunt  for  casing  some  place  else.  Don't  you  waste  any  time 
here." 

"I  guess  he's  right,  Buck,"  said  Elmer  after  a  survey 
of  the  hostile  stares  directed  at  them. 

"I'll  go  with  you  till  you're  out  of  town,"  volunteered 
the  garage  man.  "Don't  say  'no.'  There's  a  new  crowd 
in  town.  Bad  ones  who  run  with  Grogan.  They  killed 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  255 

a  couple  roughnecks  out  at  the  Country  Club  the  other 
night.  Some  say  Grogan  did  it  himself.  Be  friendly  and 
vamoose,  boys.  That's  sensible.  This  ain't  no  place  for 
anyone  who  is  working  for  Tarrant." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

ARR ANT'S  manner  of  receiving  the  story  which 
Elmer  and  Buck  reluctantly  told  upon  their  return 
from  town  was  such  as  to  puzzle  his  loyal  henchmen  sorely. 
He  sat  on  a  base  timber  and  listened  without  a  trace  of 
emotion  in  his  eyes  until  they  were  done. 

"So  that  was  it?"  he  said. 

"That  is  it,"  corrected  Buck. 

Tarrant  looked  up.  The  new  light  in  his  eyes  was 
beyond  comprehension.  It  was  not  the  blazing  light  of 
anger  the  pair  had  expected.  Tarrant  sensed  the  disap- 
pointment in  his  two  friends  and  hastened  to  assure  them. 

"I'll  take  care  of  it,  boys,"  he  said. 

"Sure,"  said  Elmer,  "we  knew  you'd  want  to  know." 

"That's  right,"  Tarrant  said. 

"We'll  go  with  you,"  blurted  Buck. 

"I  reckon  we  will,"  supplemented  Elmer.  "Yes,  sir,  I 
reckon  me  and  Buck  will  do  just  that  little  thing." 

Tarrant  did  not  reply.  He  rose  and  walked  away  from 
the  derrick  to  be  alone.  When  he  returned  he  said : 

"I  am  going  away  for  a  few  days.  I  don't  want  a  man 
to  leave  the  job.  Your  pay  goes  on  the  same  as  if  we 
were  drilling." 

"You  going  to  Tin  Spout?"  demanded  Elmer,  barring 
his  way. 

"No,"  said  Tarrant. 

"Sure  'nough  ?"  demanded  the  old  man. 

"I  am  not  going  to  Tin  Spout,"  replied  Tarrant.  "I 
give  you  my  word  I  am  not  going  after  Bodine — now." 

256 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  257 

He  drove  to  Ranger  Falls  by  a  roundabout  route,  avoid- 
ing Tin  Spout,  and  caught  the  local  evening  train  for  the 
east.  At  Dennison  he  alighted  from  the  local  to  await 
the  night  train  from  Fort  Worth.  The  train  was  late.  He 
paced  up  and  down  in  the  darkness  at  one  end  of  the  sta- 
tion, impatient  of  the  delay.  The  flashing  headlight  of 
the  flyer  as  it  roared  into  sight  brought  a  trace  of  relief  to 
his  tense  nerves.  This  train  would  bear  him  away  from 
the  oil  country  at  express  speed.  He  entered  a  sleeping 
car.  It  was  near  midnight,  but  a  brown  hand  shot  out 
from  the  half -open  door  of  a  lighted  compartment  and 
caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"Spence  Tarrant!  You  ol'  wildcat!"  hailed  maudlin 
voices  from  within.  "Just  the  man  we're  looking  for! 
C'mon  in ;  the  liquor's  fine !" 

Tarrant  looked  at  the  four  oilmen  in  the  room.  Stacks 
of  money  and  playing  cards  lay  on  the  table.  Four  right 
hands  reached  forward  to  grasp  his  hands;  four  left 
hands,  each  grasping  a  quart  bottle  partly  emptied,  waved 
a  supplementary  invitation. 

"Thanks,  boys,  but  I  can't  join  you,"  said  Tarrant 
firmly. 

"On  er  job,  Spence?" 

"Yes,"  replied  he,  "I'm  on  a  job." 

"S'all  right  if  you're  on  er  job,"  floated  after  him  as  he 
•went  on  down  the  aisle  to  his  berth.  "We,  Us  &  Company 
— we're  happy  HI'  boys  out  o'  school." 

In  the  morning  he  changed  at  Tulsa  and  caught  a  train 
which  would  give  him  the  fastest  connection  out  of  Kan- 
sas City.  All  day  long  he  sat  staring  out  upon  the  hot 
dusty  landscape  and  the  hotter  and  dustier  towns  along 
the  line.  He  could  not  get  away  from  oil.  Each  freight 


258  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

train  that  was  passed  seemed  to  him  to  consist  solely  of 
casing  and  timbers  and*  empty  tank  cars  being  hauled 
southward  to  the  oil  fields,  or  of  filled  tank  cars  on  their 
way  north  and  east.  The  vastness  and  importance  of  the 
industry  impressed  itself  upon  him.  Crude  oil  seemed 
to  have  become  as  the  very  life-blood  of  modern  industry. 
The  knowledge  that  he  was  a  part  of  it,  was  indeed  one  of 
those  whose  faith  and  knowledge  were  constantly  bringing 
in  for  man's  use  new  sources  of  the  vital  fluid,  failed  to 
thrill  him.  The  very  thought  of  oil  hurt. 

In  the  evening  the  train  halted  for  supper  and  Tarrant 
suddenly  was  aware  that  he  had  not  eaten  since  the  day 
before.  He  tumbled  out  and  joined  in  the  onslaught  on 
the  Fred  Harvey  eating  house.  The  waitress  who  took 
his  order  was  young  and  slender  and  fair  haired.  Tarrant 
left  five  dollars  on  the  table  when  he  arose,  and  went  back 
to  his  seat  in  the  train. 

The  great  Union  Station  in  Kansas  City  at  night  was 
a  relief  to  him  because  it  seemed  to  him  to  simulate  a  vast 
portal  where  the  oil  fields  were  definitely  left  behind.  He 
caught  the  California  Limited  bound  Chicagoward  by  a 
narrow  margin.  As  he  dropped  into  his  section  the  por- 
ter's face  lighted  with  a  grin  of  recognition. 

"Ah  done  carried  you  befo',  suh,"  he  explained.  "You 
an  oilman.  Ah  used  to  run  on  the  Frisco  down  in  Texas. 
Yes,  suh." 

A  thin,  harried  woman  in  the  seat  across  the  aisle  looked 
up  at  the  words. 

"Pardon  me,  are  you  an  oilman?"  she  demanded  un- 
abashed. "Well,  I  wish  you'd  tell  me  about  some  shares. 
It's  the  Pan-National  Syndicate.  That's  a  good  com- 
pany, isn't  it?" 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  259 

"Have  you  bought  any?"  asked  Tarrant. 

She  had.  She  was  a  school-teacher  from  Michigan. 
She  had  invested  her  savings  of  years  in  Syndicate  stock. 
It  was  wonderful  what  fortunes  were  made  in  oil. 

He  escaped  to  the  club  car  without  having  committed 
himself.  The  game  was  greater  even  than  he  had  thought. 
It  was  like  a  vast  octopus  stretching  its  tentacles  out  from 
those  squalid  towns  in  the  Southwest  and  drawing  from 
the  farthest  corners  of  the  land  the  savings  of  people 
charmed  by  the  siren  song  of  quick  wealth. 

He  awoke  next  morning  feeling  chilled.  He  slid  up  the 
curtain  of  his  window  and  glanced  out.  Long,  mouse- 
colored  piles  of  dirt  met  his  view  and  occasionally  a 
glimpse  of  water,  and  he  recognised  them  as  the  spoil 
banks  of  the  drainage  canal.  Chicago  was  next.  He  rose 
and  shaved  and  dressed  carefully. 

"You  got  nice  time  to  get  yo'  brekfas',  suh,"  volunteered 
the  porter.  Oilmen  are  invariably  generous. 

"Yes,"  said  Tarrant,  "I  suppose  I  ought  to  eat.  They 
say  a  man  usually  needs  a  hearty  breakfast  before  being 
hung." 

The  long  train  was  rolling  into  the  old  Polk  Street  Sta- 
tion when  he  finished  his  meal.  Porters  and  baggagemen 
were  perspiring  and  muttering  against  the  heat,  but  to 
Tarrant  the  morning  was  deliciously  cool.  He  entered  a 
taxicab  before  the  station. 

"The  Lakeside  Beach  Hotel,"  said  he  to  the  driver. 

"Yes,  sir." 

It  was  a  long  ride.  To  Tarrant  it  seemed  longer  than 
the  journey  from  Tin  Spout  to  Chicago.  As  the  car  sped 
up  the  Lake  Shore  Drive  and  the  waters  of  Lake  Michi- 
gan came  in  view  a  shiver  ran  through  him.  He  shook 


260  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

himself.  Was  it  a  premonition  ?  Was  it  only  the  breeze 
from  the  lake  acting  upon  his  sun-soaked  tissues?  He 
closed  the  windows  in  the  cab  as  they  rolled  through  Lin- 
coln Park,  but  the  sensation  of  coldness  did  not  leave  him. 

The  great  hotel  far  up  on  the  north  side  on  the  very 
edge  of  the  lake  might  have  impressed  him  more  had  he 
not  known  that  a  good  part  of  the  money  that  had  made 
its  cool  magnificence  possible  had  sprung  from  the  mucky, 
sweltering  oil  fields  of  the  Southwest.  He  was  glad  Mar- 
jorie  was  at  a  place  like  this.  It  was  the  proper  setting 
for  her. 

She  was  not  in  her  room  or  about  the  hotel.  A  bell  boy 
volunteered  the  information  that  he  had  seen  her  walking 
down  the  beach.  Tarrant  followed  the  curving  beach  of 
firm,  cool  sand  in  the  direction  indicated.  It  was  too  early 
for  the  beach  to  be  thronged  with  bathers,  but  a  number 
of  children  were  disporting  themselves  in  the  shallow 
water,  and  well  inshore,  in  the  shade  of  a  parasol,  sat 
Marjorie. 

His  footsteps  made  no  sound  on  the  moist  sand  as  he 
approached,  but  she  started  while  he  was  far  away  and 
looked  up  and  saw  him.  A  look  of  distress  came  upon  her 
face  like  a  cloud. 

"Why  have  you  come  here?"  she  demanded.  "You 
have  no  right.  I  had  almost  forgotten." 

"I  came  because  I  have  a  right,"  he  said  steadily.  "A 
man  has  the  right  to  clear  his  name.  I  have  come  to  clear 
mine  with  you." 

She  looked  at  him  with  an  expression  that  told  him  she 
now  wished  him  to  consider  himself  a  stranger  to  her,  but 
he  continued  firmly : 

"I  am  not  a  swindler.     I  told  Mr.  Bodine  that  No.  5 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  261 

was  a  dry  hole.  I  told  other  people.  They  would  not 
believe  me ;  they  thought  I  was  talking  for  effect.  Bodine 
knew  the  well  was  no  good  when  he  offered  the  stock  in 
Tin  Spout.  He  kept  his  knowledge  secret  until  the  stock 
was  disposed  of.  Then  he  laid  the  blame  on  me.  I  just 
learned  of  all  this  the  other  day.  I  have  been  out  at  my 
new  well  night  and  day,  shut  off  from  the  world.  I  came 
here  first,  to  find  you  and  tell  you  this,  because,  regardless 
of  the  future,  your  opinion  of  me  is  more  valuable  to  me 
than  that  of  the  rest  of  the  world.  But  I  am  going  to  get 
back  the  good  opinion  of  others,  too.  I  had  a  good  repu- 
tation down  there.  I've  kept  square  always. 

"If  the  people  there  were  normal  they  would  know  I 
wouldn't  be  guilty  of  that  sort  of  a  trick — letting  them  lose 
their  money.  But  they  are  not  normal.  The  boom  has 
made  them  half  crazy,  and  they  are  swayed  by  every 
rumour.  When  things  become  normal  they  will  see  more 
clearly,  but  I  am  not  going  to  wait  for  that.  I  am  going 
back  to  Tin  Spout  and  clear  my  name  now.  You  have  got 
to  admit  that  you  took  the  word  of  other  people  for  my 
alleged  swindling.  Now  I  ask  you  to  take  my  word  for 
my  squareness — until  I  have  proved  it  absolutely." 

A  gentle  wave  swept  in  from  the  lake,  rolling  up  the 
beach  and  breaking  into  foam  at  their  feet.  She  traced  a 
pattern  in  the  wet  sand  with  her  toe  before  replying. 

"There  was  proof,"  she  said.  "Everyone  accepted  it  as 
proof;  I  had  to.  A  skilful  business  man  like  Mr.  Bodine 
would  not  have  bought  your  well  if  he  had  known  it  was 
dry." 

"He  didn't  know — until  the  deal  was  made,"  replied 
Tarrant 

"Oh !    But  I  thought  you  said " 


262  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"Marjorie,"  he  interrupted,  "men  in  the  oil  game  know 
that  they  buy  oil  wells  before  production  at  their  own  risk. 
That  is  the  rule.  I  knew  Bodine  was  after  my  No.  5 
lease.  I  knew  he  would  buy  me  out  if  he  had  a  chance.  I 
gave  him  the  chance.  I  did  not  say  a  word  about  the  well 
being  a  producer.  When  I  had  his  money  I  told  him  it 
was  dry.  I  told  him  why  I  wanted  his  money — to  drill 
another  well.  I  wanted  it  because  I  had  faith  in  that  field. 
I  felt — I  knew — there  was  a  great  pool  of  oil  there  some- 
where waiting  to  be  discovered  and  used,  and  I  needed 
that  money  to  drill  more  tests  with.  I  had  to  have  it — 
or  let  the  Syndicate  run  me  out  of  the  field  I  developed, 
that  I  made  practically.  My  job  wasn't  done.  I  had  faith 
then — in  the  field  and  in  myself — I  felt  I  hadn't  done  jus- 
tice to  the  game,  and  myself.  Now  I  don't  care  so  much. 
But  I  do  care  about  being  labeled  a  swindler.  They  can't 
make  me  out  that." 

The  girl  looked  up  at  him.  His  lean,  sun-burned  face 
was  turned  toward  the  lake  and  his  closely  pursed  eyes 
were  staring  out  over  the  sunny  water  and  far  beyond. 
She  winced  as  she  observed  his  mouth.  The  boyishness 
had  gone  out  of  his  face.  His  mouth  was  hard,  hard  and 
bitter,  like  the  mouth  of  the  older  men  who  played  the  oil 
game. 

"Why  do  you  say  you  had  faith?"  she  demanded  softly. 
"Is  your  faith — gone  ?" 

"Pretty  near,"  he  replied,  unmoving. 

"No,"  she  spoke  softly;  her  tone  was  almost  a  plea. 
"Oh,  no,  no,  no!" 

"I  beg  pardon?"  said  he. 

"You  must  not  lose  faith,"  she  protested.     "Oh,  no 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  263 

matter  what  happens,  you  must  not  do  that.  It — it  hurts 
so  terribly!" 

"How  do  you  know?"  he  demanded.  "Ah!  You  lost 
faith  in  me?"  His  voice  broke  and  he  pleaded  hoarsely. 
"Don't!  For  your  own  sake,  please.  Don't  think  of  me, 
or  how  I  feel.  But  don't  let  yourself  be  hurt  like  that.  I 
swear  there  is  no  reason  for  it.  Give  me  time.  I  will 
prove  it  to  you." 

"Will  you?"  she  said. 

"I  will.    I  will  make  them  admit " 

"No,  no!  I  don't  mean  that!"  she  cried.  "Will  you 
keep  your  faith — in  yourself,  and  your  work?  Just  as 
you  had  before  this  happened.  Oh,  you  must.  You  must 
justify  that  faith.  Promise  me,  promise  you  will !" 

He  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  Her  spirit  stirred  his 
spirit  and  roused  it  out  of  the  slough  of  despond  into 
which  it  had  sunk. 

"Justify  that  faith?"  he  repeated  vaguely. 

"Yes,  yes.  It  is  too  fine  to  let  perish.  Too  precious. 
Ah!"  Her  eyes  lighted  up  as  she  saw  the  change  that 
came  over  his  countenance.  "I  knew  it,  I  knew  it !  You 
haven't  lost  your  faith  at  all." 

"And  you,"  said  Tarrant.  "Have  you  really  lost  your 
faith  in  me?" 

"Prove  that  you  have  not  lost  your  faith,"  she  said. 
"Prove  that  first." 

"Will  that  bring  back  your  faith  in  me?"  he  asked. 

She  would  not  reply. 

"Is  that  what  you  want  me  to  do  ?"  he  said. 

"Yes,"  she  replied  promptly.  "That  is  what  I  want 
to  see.  Can't  you  see — can't  you  understand — what  it 
means?" 


264  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

That  night  at  the  open-air  symphony  concert  at  Ravinia 
Park  Marjorie  turned  suddenly  upon  her  father. 

"I  am  going  back  to  Tin  Spout  to-morrow,"  she  an- 
nounced. "I  ordered  my  reservation  this  afternoon." 

"Tin  Spout?"  he  exclaimed.  "Are  you  mad,  Mar- 
jorie?" 

"Perhaps,"  she  replied.    "But  at  all  events,  I  am  going." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

*  I  A ARRANT  went  directly  to  his  lease  upon  his  return 
•*•  to  Tin  Spout.  The  rig  was  shut  down.  Buck  and 
Elmer  saw  him  as  he  came  and  they  recognised  that  a 
change  had  come  over  their  employer.  His  mere  presence 
galvanised  the  despondent  crew. 

"Get  steam  up,"  he  ordered  briskly.  "We  will  keep  on 
drilling.  I  know  we  are  deeper  than  that  sand  can  pos- 
sibly lay;  you  needn't  trouble  to  tell  me  again.  That 
doesn't  make  any  difference.  We  are  still  drilling." 

"I  reckon  you  went  up  North  and  got  some  money,  eh, 
Spence,"  suggested  Elmer. 

"Money?"  laughed  Tarrant.  "Why,  Elmer,  money 
isn't  half  as  potent  in  drilling  oil  wells  as  what  I  have  got." 

"You  ain't  been  drinking  liquor?" 

"No,  you  old  reprobate !" 

"Well,  I'm  here  to  say  it  takes  money  to  make  the  bull 
wheel  turn,"  retorted  Elmer,  "and  if  you've  got  something 
that  can  beat  it  for  putting  holes  in  the  ground  you've 
got  something  I  never  see,  and  I've  seen  some  oil." 

"Have  you  got  any  casing  coming,  Spence?"  asked  Buck 
more  practically. 

"No." 

"Not  any?" 

"Not  a  length,  Buck." 

"And  still  you  say  we  are  to  start  drilling  then?" 

"Absolutely,"  replied  Tarrant. 

"It  ain't  sense,"  protested  the  driller.  "No  casing !  We 
are  asking  for  a  caved  hole,  you  know  that." 

265 


266  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"I  know  it,  Buck,"  said  Tarrant.  "It  can't  be  helped. 
The  important  thing  is  to  drill.  We  haven't  got  any  cas- 
ing— can't  get  any.  If  the  hole  caves  on  us — well,  we're 
going  to  drill  anyway." 

"I  see,"  said  Buck.    "Playing  your  luck  to  the  limit." 
"Something  like  that,"  agreed  his  employer.     "Let's 

go." 

The  drilling  was  resumed  with  infinite  care,  and  Tarrant 
scrutinised  the  composition  of  the  frequent  bailings 
closely.  There  was  no  change  in  the  formation.  The  drill 
was  in  a  stiff  clay.  This  was  fortunate  under  the  circum- 
stances as  it  was  not  likely  to  cave  in  as  they  drilled. 
However,  it  held  no  promise  of  uncovering  the  porous 
sand  in  which  the  oil  is  found. 

They  were  below  the  2OOO-foot  strata  now  and  by  the 
test  of  all  geological  knowledge  as  well  as  of  practical 
experience  they  had  drilled  to  a  greater  depth  than  it  was 
possible  for  an  oil  sand  to  exist  in  that  formation.  The 
drillers  grumbled  at  wasted  labour.  They  were  being  paid 
well  enough  and  the  grub  was  satisfactory,  but  they  were 
men  with  some  pride.  They  did  not  wish  to  put  in  their 
time  on  a  job  after  it  had  been  proved  a  folly.  Yet  they 
remained,  and  the  drill  went  downward.  Rough  and  un- 
thinking as  they  were,  they  had  sensed  that  there  was 
something  different  about  Tarrant's  insistence  that  the 
drilling  continue.  They  knew  that  he  was  better  aware 
than  they,  or  anyone  else,  that  the  limit  of  expectation  had 
been  definitely  passed.  Yet  they  noticed  no  weakening 
on  his  part.  His  spirit  imparted  itself  to  them.  They 
would  see  him  through. 

The  one  ray  of  fortune  was  that,  in  spite  of  the  lack  of 
casing,  the  hole  showed  no  signs  of  caving.  The  bailer 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  267 

brought  up  nothing  new.  There  was  no  sign  of  cap  rock 
or  oil  sand.  There  was  nothing  but  clay,  and  there  would 
be  no  oil  in  the  clay. 

"He's  sure  a  glutton  for  punishment,"  said  one  of  the 
guards  at  supper  one  night.  "He  don't  seem  to  know 
when  he's  got  enough." 

Buck  shook  his  head. 

"It  can't  go  on,"  he  said.  "No  man  can  stand  the  gaff 
much  longer,  not  even  Tarrant." 

But  it  did  go  on.  It  went  on  through  the  remaining 
days  and  nights  of  his  option.  The  day  before  the  thir- 
teenth dawned,  and  there  was  no  change  in  the  formation. 
At  noon,  with  twenty-four  hours  remaining  of  the  option, 
a  car  came  jolting  up  to  the  lease  and  Arkansaw,  the 
gambler,  was  escorted  by  a  guard  inside  the  stockade. 

"Something  for  you  alone,  Spence,"  said  the  wicked 
young  man. 

Tarrant  led  the  way  into  his  sleeping  quarters. 

"You'll  be  through  here  at  noon  to-morrow,  I  suppose, 
Spence?"  began  the  gambler. 

"I  am  afraid  so,"  said  Tarrant. 

"Figuring  on  coming  into  Tin  Spout  then?" 

"Look  here,  Arkansaw !"  laughed  Tarrant.  "What  are 
you  going  to  do,  take  pity  on  me  and  offer  me  a  job? 
Man,  I'm  not  that  broke.  I've  got  the  rig  yet.  I'm  a 
plutocrat." 

"Grogan  is  in  town,"  said  Arkansaw  seriously.  "He  is 
waiting  for  you  to  come  in  to-morrow.  He's  gone  bad. 
Shot  a  lad  out  at  the  Club  yesterday.  He — he's  talking," 

"Meaning?"  suggested  Tarrant. 

"Yep.  He's  announcing  to  get  you,"  responded  the 
gambler.  "Thought  you  ought  to  know." 


268  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"I'm  obliged,"  said  Tarrant  politely. 

There  was  an  embarrassed  silence. 

"Spence,"  broke  out  Arkansaw,  "there  ain't  any  real 
call  for  you  to  go  down  there.  That  business  about  No.  5 
is  all  understood  now.  The  boys  have  took  back  what 
they  thought.  Folks  know  you  wouldn't  have  stuck  right 
here  and  drilled  if  you  had  put  that  over." 

"I'm  obliged  for  that,  too,  Arkansaw." 

His  gentleness  sent  a  shock  through  the  gambler. 

"Spence!  What's  the  use — "  he  began,  but  one  glance 
from  Tarrant's  eyes  silenced  him. 

"Shake  hands,  Arkansaw,"  said  Tarrant  as  they  parted. 
"It  was  sure  friendly  of  you  to  come  out." 

Tarrant  watched  the  bailing  all  day,  his  face  a  bronzed 
mask  which  concealed  the  emotions  struggling  within  him. 
As  Buck  had  said,  no  man  could  continue  to  stand  the 
strain.  When  the  last  bailer  on  the  day  tower  was  dumped 
and  examined  Tarrant  stood  up  and  brushed  his  hands 
together  softly. 

"Well,  I  tried  to  justify  that  faith  thing,"  he  said  slowly 
to  himself.  "Now  I  am  at  liberty  to  attend  to  that  other 
matter." 

"What's  that,  boss?"  asked  Buck. 

"None  of  your  darn  business!"  laughed  Tarrant.  A 
load  of  responsibility  seemed  to  have  fallen  from  his 
shoulders.  He  swung  his  fist  playfully  at  the  driller,  with 
the  old  reckless  leaping  into  his  manner. 

"Your  job  is  drilling  this  well,  feller,"  he  said.  "You're 
hired  to  stay  here  till  the  job  is  through.  That  means 
exactly  sixty  minutes  after  eleven  o'clock  to-morrow  noon. 
Then  you  can  pull  your  tools  and  draw  your  money  and 
go  hooch-hunting.  Until  that  fatal  moment,  party,  you 


I 

Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  269 

keep  that  drill  going.  Me,  I  have  got  important  business 
matters  which  I  have  neglected  too  long." 

Clean  shaven  and  freshly  clad,  from  shoes  to  coat,  lie 
mounted  Nine  Spot  and  set  out  for  town. 

"I  sure  did  try  to  justify  that  faith  thing/'  he  mused 
as  his  journey's  end  came  in  sight.  "Calico  hoss,  they're 
waiting  for  me  to  come  in  with  my  tail  between  my  legs 
to-morrow.  I  can't  quite  see  myself  doing  it,  can  you? 
Whoa,  you  ornery,  four-hoofed  reptile !  What  you  shy- 
ing at?  That's  only  the  celebrated  oil  town  of  Tin  Spout, 
where  we  play  the  last  hand  in  this  game  and  call  for  a 
show-down." 

And  out  at  the  well  at  this  moment  the  drill  was  driving 
into  the  long-sought- for  limestone  cap  rock. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

'TMN  SPOUT  sweltered  in  its  dust  at  the  end  of  a 
•*•  scorching  day.  The  sun  was  setting,  but  the  cloud- 
less dome  of  the  hot  sky  still  held  the  light  of  day,  reveal- 
ing unmercifully  the  inherent  unloveliness  of  the  squalid 
collection  of  buildings,  which,  as  the  boom  oil  town  of  the 
hour,  was  nationally  famous.  And  yet,  beneath  that  vast 
luminous  sky  and  with  the  hush  of  sunset  heavy  upon  the 
earth  and  the  towns  thereof,  Tin  Spout  was  not  hopeless. 
Its  men  were  a  dominant  race.  Their  very  indifference 
to  the  sordidness  of  their  environment  marked  them  as 
superior  to  it.  There  was  strength  there.  Thin,  grave 
riders  from  the  ranches,  their  hard,  brown  faces  abnor- 
mally clean  shaven,  moved  slowly  along  the  boardwalks, 
the  stiffness  of  their  gait  betraying  the  boots  concealed 
beneath  their  trouser  legs.  The  roughnecks,  the  operators, 
the  adventurers  of  the  oil  fields  swarmed  in  the  street, 
taking  their  rough  masculine  leisure  after  the  day's  work 
in  the  gnawing  sun. 

The  phrenetic  bustle  normal  to  the  place  was  subdued 
for  the  while,  and  men  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  sidewalks, 
smoked  slowly,  spoke  sanely.  And  then  the  peace  of  the 
moment  was  gone.  Men  crowded  together,  whispered 
swiftly,  stared  about  excitedly.  It  was  not  the  excitement 
of  a  new  well.  That  excitement  usually  had  its  inception 
to  the  tune  of  loud  swift  words,  superfluous  profanity  and 
yells.  The  eyes  of  men  now  glittered  with  the  excitement 
of  something  more  tremendous  even  than  new  oil  and 
money. 

270 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  271 

Tarrant  was  in  town.  Grogan  was  looking  for  him. 
The  news  seemed  to  flash  about  as  if  on  an  electric  cur- 
rent. No  one  knew  who  started  the  story.  No  one  could 
remember  having  heard  it  stated  in  so  many  words.  It 
simply  was  known. 

Tarrant  had  not  entered  town  by  the  main  street,  but 
had  ridden  to  the  livery  stable  near  the  old  cattle  pens 
practically  unobserved.  He  paid  the  barn  man  for  Nine 
Spot's  board  in  advance. 

"If  Elmer  or  Buck  come  for  him  they  arc  to  have  him," 
he  explained,  and  buttoning  the  bottom  button  of  his  blue 
serge  coat,  he  started  to  walk  uptown.  His  way  led  past 
Mrs.  Hemp's  boarding  house.  The  door  was  open  and 
Tarrant  stopped.  Was  it  a  flood  of  memory  that  halted 
him  and  held  him  there  in  fascination  ?  Then  why  did  he 
have  the  sensation  of  a  hand  upon  his  arm?  A  light 
hand,  a  touch  that  stirred  him !  Why  did  he  have  a  feel- 
ing that  Marjorie  Dickinson  had  caught  him  by  the  sleeve? 
A  tremor  like  a  sudden  chill  ran  through  him.  He  looked 
round  with  alarmed  eyes. 

"That  sure  was  queer,"  he  mused. 

He  tried  to  go  on.  He  could  not.  He  found  himself 
standing  at  Mrs.  Hemp's  screen  door  without  knowing- 
why  he  had  come.  And  then  he  was  standing  face  to  face 
with  Marjorie  and  stammering  his  surprise  that  she  was 
there. 

"I  left  Chicago  the  day  after  you  did,"  she  said. 

She  volunteered  no  explanation.  She  only  studied  his 
face.  And  his  face  was  set  and  hard. 

"Oh,  what  have  you  done?"  she  cried.  "Why  didn't 
you  keep  your  promise  ?" 

A  sense  of  complete  failure  descended  upon  him;  he 


272  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

understood  the  premonitory  chill  that  had  smitten  him 
outside  the  door.  He  could  not  measure  up  to  her.  He 
had  aspired  to  something  too  fine  for  him  to  achieve.  His 
mission  in  town  this  evening1  proved  it. 

"I  tried,"  he  said.    "I  couldn't  make  it." 

''You  tried — but  you  1iave  given  up?"  she  accused. 
"You  have  let  yourself  slip  back.  Oh,  how  could  you  ?" 

Tarrant  had  nothing  to  say.  He  was  afraid  that  if  he 
remained  she  would  see  the  full  darkness  into  which  his 
soul  had  descended.  He  could  not  alter  that.  The  die 
was  cast.  He  was  what  he  was;  and  this  being  so  he 
must  step  out  of  her  life.  He  must  do  so  at  once. 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,"  he  said 
harshly. 

"Yes,  you  do,"  she  insisted.  "You  know  you  do.  You 
proved  it  to  me  the  other  day  by  the  lake  up  in  Chicago." 

"I  don't  know  what  you're  talking  about,"  he  repeated. 
"I  haven't  got  any  time  for  such  nonsense.  I — have  got 
to  see  a  man  who  is  waiting  for  me." 

"You  are  going?"  she  cried  incredulously. 

"Yes;  this  is  important." 

"But — but  why  did  you  come  here  then?" 

Tarrant  looked  away. 

"I  came  to  say  there  was  a  pretty  rough  crowd  in  town 
to-night,"  he  said.  "They're  tearing  loose.  You  can't 
tell  what  will  be  doing.  I  just  came  to  say  it  would  be  a 
good  evening  to  keep  off  the  street.'* 

He  turned  and  smiled  upon  her  as  she  stared  at  him 
in  bewilderment. 

"I  would  stay  right  here  if  I  were  you,"  he  said.  "Well 
— so  long." 

He  backed  away,  still  smiling. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  273 

She  did  not  see,  and  she  could  not  have  imagined,  the 
change  that  came  over  his  face,  like  a  bitter  black  cloud 
dropping  over  the  sun,  which  took  place  the  instant  his 
back  was  turned.  She  seated  herself,  hopelessly  bewil- 
dered. In  spite  of  the  heat  she  shivered. 

"All  alone,  honey?"  greeted  Mrs.  Hemp,  issuing  from 
the  kitchen.  "Thought  I  heard  a  man's  voice  in  here." 

"Mr.  Tarrant  was  here,"  said  Marjorie. 

"Here.  Drink  it  while  it's  cold."  Mrs.  Hemp  placed 
a  glass  of  lemonade  before  the  girl  and  proceeded  to  regale 
herself  from  another.  "That  devil  Grogan  is  after  Tar- 
rant," continued  the  worthy  lady  as  she  rocked  and  sipped. 
"Men  sure  are  the  peskiest  things  alive." 

Marjorie  sat  as  if  numbed.  She  heard  the  rocker  creak 
noisily  under  Mrs.  Hemp's  generous  weight.  The  last 
rays  of  the  setting  sun  slanted  through  the  screen  door 
upon  the  rug  at  her  feet.  For  an  instant  the  sunlight  was 
obscured  by  the  passing  shadows  of  two  men  going  down 
the  street.  Their  low,  heavy  voices  floated  distinctly  into 
the  quiet,  hot  room. 

"Wonder  if  Tarrant  knows  Grogan  is  out  after  him?" 
spoke  one. 

"Reckon  he  does,"  drawled  the  other.  "They  tell  me 
he's  wearing  his  coat." 

Then  they  were  gone. 

"Ain't  you  going  to  drink  your  lemonade,  honey?" 
asked  Mrs.  Hemp.  "It  won't  keep  cold  long  in  this 
weather." 

Marjorie  stood  up.    Her  knees  were  trembling. 

"Did  you  hear  what  those  men  said,  Mrs.  Hemp?"  she 
said. 


274  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"Oh,  men's  talk!"  was  the  reply.  "I  don't  pay  much 
attention  to  them.  I  always  say  we  women " 

"Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  tell  me  the  significance 
of  Mr.  Tarrant  wearing  his  coat  this  evening?"  demanded 
Marjorie. 

Mrs.  Hemp  began.    "Now,  honey,  don't  you " 

"Did  he  have  a  weapon  under  it?''  asked  Marjorie 
coldly. 

"Why,  how  should  I  know,  honey?"  protested  Mrs. 
Hemp. 

Marjorie  was  insistent.  "Is  that  why  he  wore  a  coat — 
to  conceal  a  weapon  ?"  she  went  on. 

"If  you  gotta  know,"  flared  the  old  ranch  woman,  "I 
reckon  it  is.  But  don't  you  go  working  yourself  up  into 
a  lather,  honey,  about  men's  affairs;  they  ain't  worth  it. 
I  always  say  we  women " 

Marjorie  said  something  about  "we  women"  which  left 
Mrs.  Hemp  shocked  and  gaping.  The  girl  flared  with 
sudden  resolution,  and  then  she  felt  weak  and  numb. 
Her  knees  threatened  to  give  way,  and  she  attempted  to 
bite  her  upper  lip  and  found  her  lips  were  trembling. 

"You  ain't  going  to  faint,  honey?"  stammered  Mrs. 
Hemp. 

"Faint!"  Marjorie  stared  at  the  complacent  woman 
furiously.  "You  sit  there  and — aren't  you  going  to  do 
anything?" 

"Me?"  gasped  Mrs.  Hemp. 

"Aren't  you  going  to  try  to  stop  it?" 

"Why,  Honey!  Them  things  can't  be  stopped.  Men 
are  built  that  way." 

A  step  sounded  outside  and  a  tall  quiet  cowboy  pressed 
his  nose  against  the  screen  door. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  275 

"Excuse  me,"  said  he,  "but  if  Spence  Tarrant  is  here, 
will  you  ladies  tell  him  a  friend  would  like  to  see  him." 

"What  is  it?"  demanded  Marjorie. 

"Oh,  nothing  important,  lady,"  was  the  evasive  reply. 
"I  just  get  a  message  for  him,  that's  all." 

"What  is  it?    Tell  me!    I— will  tell  him,"  she  insisted. 

"Tell  him,"  said  the  cowboy,  "to  be  careful — or  the 
marshal  might  interfere." 

He  went  away,  clumsily  touching  his  heavy  sombrero, 
and  Marjorie  turned  again  to  Mrs.  Hemp. 

"Is  that  your  attitude,  too?"  she  demanded. 

"Honey,  it's  this  way,"  broke  out  the  woman  swiftly, 
"Spence  Tarrant  can't  let  himself  be  run  out  of  town,  and 
that  devil  Grogan  is  out  to  do  it.  Ain't  that  plain  and 
simple?  I  know  it's  nothing  but  fool-boy  nonsense  and 
you  know  it,  but  men  are  built  to  be  fools,  and  they're 
just  bound  to  have  their  own  way.  That  Grogan  has  got 
a  terrible  name,  I  know,  but  I  guess  Spence  Tarrant  can 
take  care  of  himself  no  matter  who  is  after  him,  so  there!" 

"Do  you  realise  what  you  are  saying?"  said  Marjorie. 
"Do  you  realise  what  it  means  for  him  to — take  care  of 
himself?" 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Hemp,  "I  do  realise  it,  probably 
a  little  better  than  you  do,  but  I  know  what  you  mean. 
Well,  it  is  wrong,  of  course,  but  there  are  a  whole  lot  of 
things  in  this  world  that  are  wrong,  and  I  own  up  I've 
sort  of  give  up  trying  to  set  them  right." 

"Why,  it's  outrageous,  it's  barbaric!"  cried  Marjorie 
"I  never  dreamed  that  such  things  still  existed." 

"Honey,  I've  noticed  that  about  you  folks  that  come 
from  up  North,"  the  old  woman  said.  "You  sort  of  seem 
to  have  the  notion  that  because  a  thing  didn't  exist  in  your 


276  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

life  back  there  it  hasn't  got  any  right  to  exist  at  all,  but 
I  never  noticed  that  what  you'uns  thought  made  things 
any  different  down  here." 

"Tell  me,"  demanded  Marjorie,  "what  I  can  do  to  stop 
it!" 

"It  ain't  women's  business,"  said  Mrs.  Hemp  firmly. 

"Tell  me,"  insisted  the  girl. 

"There's  just  one  thing  I  know  of  that  might  be  of  any 
use,"  said  the  woman,  regarding  her  with  a  disapproving 
eye. 

"Tell  me— tell  me!" 

"You  might  hunt  up  :>pence  Tarrant,"  was  the  scorn- 
ful reply,  "and  ask  him  to  tuck  his  tail  between  his  legs 
and  get  out  of  town  so  Grogan  can't  find  him.  But  you 
won't  do  that,  because  you  got  sense.  And  it  wouldn't 
do  any  good  if  you  did." 

Tarrant  slowly  retraced  his  steps  to  the  livery  stable. 
The  accusing  look  in  Marjorie's  eyes  had  shaken  him. 
He  could  not  flee.  That  was  out  of  the  question.  By 
all  the  tenets  of  his  code,  or  the  code  of  the  men  whom 
he  called  friends,  that  was  forbidden.  Neither  could  he 
seek  Grogan  now.  That,  too,  was  forbidden  by  the  influ- 
ence she  held  upon  him. 

At  the  barn  he  upended  a  water  bucket  and  seated  him- 
self with  his  back  to  the  wall.  He  knew  that  it  would  not 
be  long  until  the  news  of  his  presence  there  had  been  cir- 
culated, and  he  believed  that  his  wait  would  not  be  long. 
A  man  came  slipping  round  the  corner  presently  and  Tar- 
rant, instantly  tensed,  relaxed  as  he  recognised  the  figure 
of  the  cowboy  who  had  sought  him  at  Mrs.  Hemp's.  For 
a  moment  there  was  no  word  spoken.  The  cowboy  scruti- 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  277 

niscd  the  left  side  of  Tarrant's  coat  and  strove  to  decide 
what  might  be  hidden  underneath, 

"You  are  hooked  up  all  right,  ain't  you,  Spence,"  he 
asked  finally. 

Tarrant  nodded  and  said :  "This  is  no  place  for  a  cow- 
boy just  now,  son." 

"Don't  I  know  it?"  was  the  reply.    "JBut  I  was  sent." 

"Who  sent  you?" 

"Ol'  Arkansaw." 

"Why?" 

"Arkansaw  told  me  to  move  fast  and  sudden  and  give 
you  the  word  that  Grogan  is  holed  up  somewhere  on  Main 
Street." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"Arkansaw  didn't  say.  Said  just  tell  you  that.  Your 
judgment  was  good,  he  says." 

Tarrant  nodded  again,  and  looked  down  at  the  rider's 
high-heeled  boots. 

"Cowboy  feet,  travel,"  said  he  curtly. 

"Adios,  Spence,"  said  the  cowboy,  moving  on. 

"So  long,"  was  the  response. 

Over  on  Main  Street  the  news  of  Grogan's  manceuver, 
which  through  some  mysterious  channel  had  reached  the 
ears  of  Arkansaw,  had  spread  swiftly  and  had  occasioned 
surprise.  Grogan's  reputation  was  such  that  men  had 
expected  something  better  of  him.  Anybody  could  hide 
out  and  get  a  man.  Grogan  had  been  expected  to  show 
Tarrant  up,  which  was  a  more  complex  and  delicate  mat- 
ter altogether.  Disappointment  was  expressed  by  the 
more  garrulous.  As  the  final  moments  of  daylight  began 
to  draw  to  a  close  with  no  denouement  of  the  promised 
drama  this  disappointment  spread.  The  tension  which 


278  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

had  stilled  the  troublous  night  life  of  Tin  Spout  gradually 
slackened.  Men  began  to  talk  loudly  and  excitedly  of 
other  things.  The  Oil  Exchange  and  other  gambling 
places  began  to  draw  their  quota  of  patrons.  Pool  balls 
clicked,  and  in  Chili  Joe's  there  was  a  clamour  and  clatter 
of  dishes.  Talkative  men  swore  unnecessarily  and  offered 
to  bet  it  wouldn't  come  off;  others  shrugged  their  shoul- 
ders and  turned  to  other  affairs. 

And  then  Grogan  was  suddenly  seen  crossing  Main 
Street  as  he  hurried  toward  a  side  street  which  led  to  the 
rear  of  the  livery  stable.  There  was  a  deadly  elation  in 
his  gait;  his  manner  was  the  grimly  pleased  manner  of 
a  man  who  has  had  information  which  places  the  enemy 
in  his  power.  The  crowd  swarmed  towrard  the  barn,  and 
then  suddenly  it  scattered  like  sheep  from  a  wolf,  for 
Grogan  had  crouched  in  the  middle  of  the  muddy  street, 
drawn  his  weapon  and  aimed  at  a  tall  figure  in  blue  that 
was  stalking  toward  him  from  the  other  end  of  the  block. 

Tarrant  merely  stopped.  He  did  not  crouch  or  move. 
His  hands  hung  at  his  side.  His  face  was  like  a  mask. 

Grogan  stared  for  a  moment  in  complete  bewilderment. 
Then  a  yelp  of  triumph  issued  from  his  throat  and  his 
teeth  were  bared. 

"Get  out  of  town,  you  four-flusher!"  he  growled,  run- 
ning forward  to  close  pistol  range.  "I've  got  you  now. 
Caught  you  asleep.  You're  busted.  You're  a  bum,  and 
I'm  kicking  you  out  of  town.  Get  out.  Travel  on — or 
I'll  hand  it  to  you — now!" 

In  the  Bon  Ton  Pool  Parlor  the  marshal  crashed  sense- 
less to  the  floor  from  the  blow  of  a  cue;  and  from  corners, 
doors  and  windows,  from  every  sheltered  point  of  vantage, 
heads  jutted  and  staring  eyes  beheld  the  drama  in  the 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  279 

street.  Tarrant  stood  still.  The  sight  of  the  oncoming 
gunman  with  his  upraised  weapon  apparently  made  no 
impression.  A  loose-mouthed  fool  cried  out: 

"The  mutt  hasn't  got  a  gun!"  and  another  urged  Tar- 
rant to  run. 

Grogan  was  close  now.  A  sneer  of  triumph  distorted 
his  whole  face,  for  even  now  Tarrant  made  no  movement. 
Like  a  tiger  making  sure  of  his  leap,  Grogan  poised  him- 
self within  deadly  range. 

"I'll  count  three,"  he  snarled,  "I'll  give  you  that  long 
to  travel.  One — two " 

Men  whose  experiences  qualified  them  to  judge  such 
affairs  averred  it  was  the  fastest  thing  they  had  ever  seen. 
So  fast  was  it  that  there  promptly  arose  a  variety  of  opin- 
ions as  to  just  what  happened.  It  was  universally  agreed, 
however,  that  Grogan  fired  instantly  upon  his  utterance 
of  the  word  "two."  No  one  was  found  who  pretended 
to  have  heard  him  say  "three."  Opinion  at  first  inclined 
to  the  belief  that  he  had  shot  high.  The  more  calm  and 
accurate  analysis  that  followed  showed  that  Tarrant  had 
gauged  the  treachery  in  Grogan's  mind  to  the  fraction  of 
a  second  and  at  the  word  "two"  had  flung  himself  to  the 
right.  At  the  same  time  he  had  drawn  the  gun  under  the 
left  breast  of  his  coat  and  fired  so  swiftly  that  the  roar 
of  his  volley  seemed  a  continuation  of  Grogan's  first  shot. 

Grogan  fired  again,  but  the  bullet  went  into  the  mud 
at  his  feet.  Tarrant  stopped  shooting.  Grogan  came  on 
for  a  few  steps  more.  Opposite  the  establishment  of 
Chili  Joe  he  came  to  a  dead  stop.  He  seemed  undecided, 
but  suddenly  he  came  to  an  apparent  decision,  and  drop- 
ping his  revolver  he  staggered  for  the  promise  of  shelter 
offered  by  Chili  Joe's  screen  door. 


280  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

Someone  laughed  and  jibed:  "Lost  his  nerve!" 

But  Grogan  had  lost  more  than  his  nerve.  He  plunged 
across  the  sidewalk  and  staggered  headlong  into  the 
screen.  There  his  legs  bent  under  him  and  he  fell  and 
came  to  a  rest  with  his  head  on  the  threshold  of  the  store. 

"We've  got  Tarrant  just  the  same!"  Bodine's  voice 
from  the  fringe  of  the  crowd  rang  triumphantly.  "Go 
ahead  there;  go  on  and  take  him!" 

Men  advanced  upon  Tarrant.  He  saw  them  display 
stars  and  he  passed  over  his  gun. 

"Take  him  to  jail  at  once!" 

Bodine  was  giving  orders  with  a  complete  assurance  of 
being  obeyed. 

"Come  along,"  said  an  officer.    "Come  on !" 

Tarrant  saw  Bodine's  face  above  the  crowd.  The  pro- 
moter's expression  was  one  of  cunning  and  triumph.  Then 
the  crowd  pushed  forward  and  Tarrant  was  led  away. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

A  DILAPIDATED  flivver  bearing  a  rough-looking 
**•  man  rolled  out  of  Tin  Spout  a  few  minutes  after 
the  shooting.  The  car  went  northward.  It  left  the  Tin 
Spout  field  and  came  to  the  line  of  the  88  Lease.  Here, 
for  apparently  no  good  reason,  it  swung  off  the  well- 
defined  road  which  continued  straight  northward  and  went 
jolting  over  the  rough  soil  toward  the  gate  in  the  stockade 
surrounding  Tarrant's  well. 

Buck  and  Elmer  and  the  rest  of  the  crew  were  appar- 
ently loafing.  They  had  pulled  the  tools  from  the  hole 
and  swung  them  above  the  casing,  and  by  the  light  of  a 
gasoline  flare  they  were  excitedly  studying  the  contents 
of  the  bailer  which  had  been  poured  into  the  slush  pool. 

"We  must  send  for  Spence,"  said  Buck ;  and  then  they 
heard  and  saw  the  car  at  the  gate  in  the  stockade. 

A  guard  stepped  forth  and  held  up  his  hand.  The 
driver  came  to  a  halt  within  easy  speaking  distance. 

"This  the  way  to  Colson's  Ranch?"  he  called. 

It  was  not  the  way.  Elmer  told  him  so.  Had  he  kept 
on  the  main  road  he  would  have  come  to  the  Colson  Ranch 
in  short  order.  He  was  off  the  road. 

The  driver  swore  good-humoredly. 

"That's  what  I  figured,"  said  he,  "but  the  garage  man 
told  me  to  hit  off  in  here  and  I'd  save  time.  Just  keep  on 
north  on  the  main  road,  you  say?" 

"That's  right,"  said  Elmer. 

"All  right,  thanks."  The  driver  prepared  to  turn  round. 

"S'pose  you  heard  the  news  ?"  he  said  casually. 

281 


282  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"We  ain't  heard  anything,"  saM  Elmer.  "What  is  it — 
somebody  bring  in  a  gusher  ?" 

"Don't  kid  me,"  said  the  man. 

"Price  of  crude  gone  up?" 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  haven't  heard?"  demanded 
the  visitor.  "No,"  he  added  with  a  look  round ;  "I  guess 
you  wouldn't  be  here  if  you'd  heard,  considering  you  fel- 
lows make  a  play  at  being  his  friends,  which  he  certainly 
could  use  a  few  right  now,  I'm  thinking." 

There  was  a  chilled  silence  of  several  seconds. 

"You  ain't  talking  about  the  boss?"  demanded  Elmer. 

"Shore  am." 

"Tarrant " 

"He  shot  Grogan  down  to  Tin  Spout  this  evening." 

"Kill  him?" 

"Not  quite.    Plumb  ruined  his  health,  though." 

"I  figured  he'd  kill  him  dead  sometime,"  said  Elmer. 
"Did  he  get  touched  up  any  himself?" 

The  talebearer  shook  his  head. 

"No,"  he  said  slowly.  "From  what  I  hear  of  it,  they 
claim  he  didn't  give  Grogan  any  chance.  That's  why  I 
heard  folks  was  so  against  him  down  there.  'Course  I'm 
a  stranger  to  you  boys  round  here,  and  I  never  knew  Tar- 
rant from  an  owl,  but  I  sort  of  rigger  a  man's  friends 
ought  to  be  told  when  he's  in  a  bad  fix,  no  matter  what 
folks  say  against  him.  They've  got  Tarrant  in  jail  down 
there  to  Tin  Spout  and  Grogan's  friends  are  talking 
mean." 

"How  mean  are  they  talking?"  asked  Elmer  after  a 
pause. 

"Pretty  mean,"  said  the  man,  shaking  his  head. 

"Go  on,"  said  Elmer. 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  283 

"They  are  talking  of  getting  him  before  the  rangers 
come,"  said  the  man.  "They  are  talking  of  taking  him 
out  of  jail  to-night." 

There  was  another  pause. 

"Thank  you,  suh,"  said  Elmer.     "We're  sure  obliged." 

"Of  course  I  don't  know — it's  only  what  I  heard  talked 
of,"  said  the  man  as  he  drove  on. 

"We're  sure  obliged  to  you,"  said  Elmer. 

The  mud-covered  flivver  jolted  back  to  the  main  road 
and  turned  north.  It  continued  on  its  course  until  a  dip 
in  the  road  hid  it  from  the  well.  Then  the  lights  were 
switched  off  and  the  car  swung  off  the  road  and  came  to 
a  standstill.  The  driver  leaped  out  and  ran  swiftly  to  a 
point  where  he  could  see  and  hear  what  was  going  on  at 
the  well. 

Buck  had  moved  before  the  talebearer  was  out  of  sight. 
His  first  action  was  to  crank  his  car.  In  another  moment 
the  crew  and  the  guards  were  struggling  for  room  in  the 
car  or  on  the  running  boards. 

"Mebbe  somebody  ought  to  stay  on  the  lease,"  suggested 
Elmer  dubiously. 

"Lease,  hell!"  growled  a  guard.  "You  heard  what  he 
said,  didn't  you?" 

"Bodine's  gang  will  all  be  busy  in  town,"  said  Buck. 

"I  reckon,"  said  Elmer.    "Let's  go!" 

Buck  drove  with  a  recklessness  which  tested  the  little 
car  to  the  utmost,  and  they  paid  no  attention  to  the  tour- 
ing car,  laden  with  men,  which  started  westward  as  they 
parked  the  flivver  within  the  glare  of  Tin  Spout's  lights. 
They  attracted  some  attention  as  they  plowed  their  way 
through  the  crowds  toward  the  frame  shack  with  an  iron 
cage  inside  which  served  as  Tin  Spout's  lockup,  for  they 


284  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

had  been  recognised  promptly,  and  their  faces  were  hard 
with  recklessness.  They  came  to  an  abrupt  halt  at  the 
door  of  the  jail.  A  small,  bow-legged  and  tired-looking 
man  with  a  long,  drooping  moustache  barred  the  way. 

"You  gents  was  wanting  something?"  said  he  sugges- 
tively. 

"A  ranger !"  exclaimed  Buck.    "Then  they've  come." 

"Shore  have,"  piped  the  little  man.    "I  am  them." 

"Only  one  of  you?"  said  Buck. 

"Hell !"  retorted  the  ranger.  "They  ain't  but  one  pris- 
oner, is  they?" 

"Is  he  all  right?"  demanded  Elmer. 

The  ranger  tilted  his  head  back  slowly  until  at  last  his 
eyes  rested  upon  Elmer's  face. 

"Gosh  a-whistling !"  said  he.  "I  did  think  for  awhile 
I  never  would  see  the  top  of  your  carcass.  Well,  old- 
timer,  I  like  nerve,  but  impudence  don't  set  so  well  with 
me.  Who  gave  you  license  to  ask  if  my  prisoner  is  all 
right?  Don't  you  see  I'm  here ?" 

"We  did  hear  some  talk  about  a  lynching,"  persisted 
Elmer. 

"You  ain't  telling  me?"  said  the  ranger.  "Shore,  now, 
ain't  it  a  sin  the  way  folks  will  talk  careless  ?  They  don't 
want  to  let  me  catch  'em  at  it.  It's  against  the  laws  of 
the  state  of  Texas." 

"Yes,"  said  Buck,  "but  this  is  Bodine's  town,  and  Gro- 
gan  was  his  gunman  and  Bodine  is  after  Tarrant." 

"Now  let  me  tell  you  something,  son,"  snapped  the 
ranger;  "this  may  have  been  Bodine's  town  up  to  about 
an  hour  ago,  but  at  that  time  it  came  under  the  hand  and 
rule  of  the  state  of  Texas  represented  by  the  person  of 
yours  truly,  and  I'm  doing  the  dealing  at  present;  and 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  285 

Bodine  ain't  setting  in,  and  you  boys  ain't  setting  in,  and 
by  midnight  there'll  be  four  more  rangers  here  and  if  we 
hear  any  more  of  this  wicked  talk  we're  going  to  lose  pa- 
tience. I'm  taking  care  of  the  prisoner  named  Tarrant. 
His  lawyer  has  been  to  see  him.  That's  all,  boys.  You 
got  permission  to  jog  right  along." 

Elmer  excused  himself  for  a  moment  and  slipped  alone 
down  to  Bodine's  office.  The  office  was  deserted.  He 
went  to  the  Oil  Exchange,  where  business  continued  as 
usual,  and  thrusting  the  fat  manager  aside,  mounted  the 
platform. 

"I'm  looking  for  a  parry  called  Bodine,"  said  the  old 
fellow  quietly.  "Anybody  happen  to  see  him  round?" 

"Mr.  Bodine  is  not  here,"  said  the  manager. 

"All  right,  hombre,"  retorted  Elmer,  "but  don't  roll 
your  fat  eyes  at  me,  because  I'm  touchy  to-night  and  I 
might  go  off.  I  reckon  plenty  of  Bodine's  gang  are  here," 
he  continued  quietly  to  the  crowd,  "and  I  want  them  to 
tell  their  boss  I'll  let  him  live  on  one  condition :  that  Spence 
Tarrant  gets  a  fair  deal.  If  he  don't,  I'll  kill  Mr.  Bodine." 

Having  delivered  his  message  he  stepped  down  from 
the  platform  and  left  the  room.  Outside  the  doorway  he 
almost  collided  with  Marjorie.  The  girl  stared  at  him 
with  alarm  in  her  eyes. 

"You  in  town!"  she  gasped.  "Oh,  Elmer!  But  the 
other  men  are  at  the  well,  surely?" 

A  chill  passed  through  Elmer's  spare  frame. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Miss  Marjorie?"  he  stamnered. 
"No,  the  boys  are  all  with  me — gosh-a-mighty,  you  don't 

mean  they "  He  began  to  tremble  with  anger.  "If 

they  have,"  he  began,  but  she  cut  him  short 


286  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"You  must  get  back  at  once !"  she  cried.  "Get  the  men. 
I  will  get  a  fast  car.  Oh,  hurry,  hurry !" 

There  was  little  said  as  they  raced  out  of  town  in  a 
large  service  car.  Marjorie  sat  beside  the  driver  and  she 
leaned  forward,  striving  to  pierce  the  darkness  ahead.  The 
others  followed  her  example.  The  fear  that  they  had 
fallen  into  a  trap  closed  their  lips.  They  might  have 
cursed  themselves,  but  the  presence  of  the  girl  in  the  front 
seat  prevented. 

"What  was  that?"  cried  Marjorie,  as  the  sound  of  an 
explosion  shattered  the  night. 

No  one  answered.  The  car  swung  over  a  rise,  bringing 
them  within  view  of  the  well  site. 

The  tale  of  what  had  happened  during  their  absence 
was  writ  red  in  the  heavens  which  softly  reflected  the  glow 
from  the  burning  buildings  and  rig  of  Well  No.  6.  The 
derrick  was  in  flames,  its  burning  skeleton  outlined  against 
the  dark.  The  ruins  of  the  other  buildings  smoldered 
brightly.  The  explosion  had  apparently  been  in  the  boiler 
house,  for  fresh  flames  were  rising  about  the  ruined  ma- 
chinery. Figures  of  men  were  seen  running  away.  A 
high-powered  car  thrummed  some  place  in  the  darkness 
and  raced  out  of  hearing.  By  the  time  the  service  car 
reached  the  site  it  was  deserted  and  only  the  flames  and 
wreckage  testified  to  the  fact  that  men  had  swarmed  about 
the  well  but  a  few  minutes  before. 

Buck  ran  in  beneath  the  flaming  derrick  and  out  again. 

"The  hole  is  all  right,"  he  panted.  "They  didn't  touch 
it.  Saving  it  for  the  Syndicate,  I  suppose." 

"The  option  expires  at  noon  to-morrow!"  cried  Mar- 
jorie. "Oh,  is  there  nothing  to  be  done?" 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  287 

"Yes,"  said  Elmer,  "and  I'm  going  back  and  find  Bodine 
and  do  it  now !" 

The  girl  caught  him  by  the  arm. 

"Will  that  save  the  well  for  Mr.  Tarrant?"  she  de- 
manded. "Will  it  do  him  any  good?  Think!  You  left 
here  to-night  because  you  wanted  to  help  him.  Nobody 
can  blame  you  for  that.  But  now  he  needs  your  help,  too. 
Oh,  if  I  could  only  do  something!  Surely  you  can  do 
something.  The  well  was  nearly  completed,  wasn't  it? 
Is  there  no  way  to  go  on — to  finish  drilling?" 

As  if  in  answer  to  her  question  the  burning  derrick 
buckled  and  sagged  and  crashed  to  the  ground  with  a  roar. 

"You  must  do  something!"  cried  the  girl,  undaunted. 
"I  won't  believe  that  it  is  hopeless,  not  even  now.  I  won't, 
I  won't!" 

"There's  just  one  chance,"  cried  Buck,  spurred  by  her 
words.  "They  didn't  know  we  were  through  the  cap  rock. 
We'll  put  in  a  big  shot  in  the  morning.  It  is  a  poor  bet, 
but  it's  all  we  can  do." 

"What  does  that  mean  ?"  demanded  Marjorie. 

"It  just  means,"  drawled  Elmer,  "that  I  won't  look  up 
Bodine  until  to-morrow." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

TN  the  jail  at  Tin  Spout  that  night  Tarrant  lay  on  a 
cot  staring  up  at  the  barred  ceiling.  It  was  hot  outside 
that  night,  and  in  the  jail  the  air  was  stifling.  A  high- 
j  acker  who  had  held  up  a  restaurant  occupied  the  cell  on 
his  right;  in  the  cage  to  his  left  was  incarcerated  a  boot- 
legger who  had  knifed  a  deputy.  The  heat  tortured  them, 
and  they  grumbled  and  moaned  and  cursed  constantly. 
Rambling  protests  of  innocence,  of  double-crossing,  rolled 
from  their  lips,  and  alternately  and  together  they  made  the 
night  hideous. 

Tarrant  was  silent.  He  lay  on  his  cot  in  a  mood  of 
resignation.  Through  his  mind  there  ran  a  film  which 
embraced  all  that  seemed  important  in  his  life.  The  film 
began  with  his  first  sight  of  Marjorie  Dickinson  at  the 
depot  of  Tin  Spout;  it  ended  abruptly  with  the  clang  of 
the  cell  door  as  it  shut  him  in.  He  saw  in  the  darkness 
above  his  head  her  face  as  he  had  first  beheld  it,  fine  and 
beautiful  and  ablaze  with  indignation  over  the  treatment 
of  the  pony,  Nine  Spot.  He  lived  over  the  scenes  in  which 
she  had  been  involved;  the  brief  moment  that  evening  on 
the  Stringer  Roof;  the  night  at  the  Country  Club;  the 
evening  when  she  had  come  to  warn  him  that  Bodine  was 
after  the  88  Lease.  He  saw  also  the  scene  when  he  had 
picked  her  up  brutally  and  kissed  her.  It  didn't  matter 
now.  They  had  got  him.  What  might  have  been  was 
only  a  dream.  It  could  never  come  true.  But  it  was  well 
to  have  dreamed. 

288 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  289 

"Tarrant,"  said  the  little  ranger  softly. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Tarrant  listlessly. 

"You  all  right?" 

"Yes." 

"You  were  so  danged  quiet,"  explained  the  officer,  "I 
wasn't  sure.  I  guess  you  ain't  in  so  wrong,  after  all." 

"How  come?"  asked  Tarrant  disinterestedly. 

"Well,  they  tell  me  that  party  you  nicked  ain't  going 
out,"  said  the  ranger.  "You  crippled  him  up  so  he  won't 
do  any  more  gun  throwing,  but  they  claim  he  will  make 
a  live  of  it." 

"It  was  an  even  break,"  declared  Tarrant,  "but  they 
will  have  the  court,  so  that  won't  count." 

"Mebbe,"  was  the  reply.  "Your  lawyer's  fixing  to  bail 
you  in  the  morning." 

"Thanks,"  said  Tarrant  casually. 

The  news  did  not  greatly  excite  him.  A  load  of  hope- 
lessness lay  heavily  upon  his  spirit.  He  knew  there  could 
be  nothing  between  him  and  Marjorie  after  this.  Her 
code  of  life  embraced  no  comprehension  of  the  code  of 
life  as  he  lived  it.  To  her  the  affair  with  Grogan  could 
be  only  a  lawless  shooting  affray.  She  had  warned  him, 
and  he  had  the  opportunity  to  avoid  it  by  going  away. 
Of  course  he  couldn't  do  that.  Everybody  would  under- 
stand, except  the  one  whose  opinion  mattered.  In  his 
mood  of  depression  he  saw  himself  outlawed,  stamped 
with  the  brand  of  the  violent  criminal.  With  her  gentle- 
ness, her  sweetness,  how  could  she  see  him  otherwise? 
On  the  other  hand,  Bodine  would  appear  in  the  light  in 
which  he  had  consistently  sought  to  picture  himself  in 
Mar j one's  eyes — the  powerful,  orderly  business  man  in 
competition  with  a  reckless  ruffian. 


290  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

"Ruffian,"  whispered  Tarrant.    "That's  the  word." 

So  the  dream  ended.  It  was  his  own  fault,  the  fault 
of  his  breeding  and  his  life  which  had  made  it  impossible 
for  him  to  conform  to  her  code.  All  things  considered, 
it  had  been  presumptuous,  as  her  father  declared,  for  him 
to  aspire  to  any  association  with  her.  She  was  a  fine 
spirit.  A  creature  of  another  plane.  He  was  only  a 
boss  roughneck  of  the  oil  fields,  as  hard  and  rough  as 
any  man  in  the  game.  The  sense  of  frustrated  youth, 
youth  that  had  hoped  and  dreamed  of  something  finer, 
stirred  him  a  little,  but  it  was  only  a  flutter.  He  was 
beaten.  He  saw  no  light  in  the  future.  The  incentive 
to  struggle  had  gone  out  of  him.  Even  the  thoughts  of 
Bodine  and  his  victory  failed  to  bring  back  his  nerve. 

He  was  released  from  jail  in  the  forenoon.  His  law- 
yer's optimism  and  fighting  spirit  failed  to  find  any  re- 
sponse in  him. 

"I'm  sure  obliged,  Al,  for  your  hustling  so  early,"  he 
said;  "it  could  have  waited,  though." 

"Waited,  nothing!"  snapped  the  lawyer.  "If  you  knew 
half  of  what's  been  happening  this  night  you'd  snap  out 
of  it.  Talk  about  hustling  early!  Do  you  think  I  had 
any  sleep  last  night  ?  I  should  say  not.  I've  had  the  gov- 
ernor on  the  long  distance.  I've  got  a  Department  of 
Justice  man  headed  this  way  right  now.  They're  going 
to  know  they  have  been  in  a  fight,  Spence ;  I  promise  you 
that." 

"That's  fine  of  you,  Al,"  said  Tarrant  dully. 

"I  was  only  the  instrument,"  said  the  lawyer.  "Some- 
body else  gave  me  the  information  that  is  going  to  be  the 
big  surprise  to  them." 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  291 

"I'm  sure  much  obliged,"  repeated  Tarrant.  "You 
don't  need  me  right  now,  Al  ?" 

"Why?" 

"I  figure  I'll  go  out  to  the  lease,"  replied  Tarrant.  "I'll 
have  to  take  down  my  rig." 

The  lawyer's  expression  of  fighting  optimism  vanished 
abruptly. 

"Why,  I  don't  believe  I  would  do  that,  Spence,"  he  said 
with  assumed  carelessness.  "Better  stay  round  with  me. 
Come  to  think  of  it,  I  do  need  you.  Sure,  we  have  got  to 
get  together  in  my  office  and  put  our  evidence  in  shape  and 
outline  the  case." 

Tar  rant's  numbed  mind  barely  managed  to  catch  the 
note  of  well-intentioned  falseness  in  the  attorney's  re- 
marks. He  did  not  comprehend  at  first  and  stood  staring 
stupidly  at  the  man  of  law.  Gradually  his  faculties 
awakened. 

"What's  -wrong,  Al  ?"  he  asked  in  a  new  tone. 

"Wrong?"  repeated  the  lawyer  evasively.  "Who  said 
there  was  anything  wrong?" 

"What's  wrong  at  the  lease?"  cried  Tarrant.  His  eyes 
flashed  again,  and  youth  and  strength  came  creeping  back 
into  his  drawn  face. 

"I  wouldn't  go  out  to  the  lease  just  now,  Spence,"  said 
the  lawyer. 

"Out  -with  it!"  roared  Tarrant.  "Come  across." 

"Somebody  jumped  your  lease  last  night,"  came  the 
reply.  "Elmer  and  Buck  and  the  crew  were  drawn  to 
town  by  a  report  that  you  were  in  danger.  The  outfit  was 
in  flames  when  they  got  back." 

Tarrant  drew  the  first  full  breath  he  had  taken  since 


292  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

the  shooting.  His  great  lungs  swelled  and  his  nostrils 
distended. 

"Bodine !"  he  murmured. 

The  lethargy  which  the  night  had  induced  fell  from  him 
like  a  discarded  cloak.  His  lips  tightened  and  his  breath 
came  and  went  rapidly.  Then  he  laughed.  The  lawyer 
started  and  drew  away. 

"Bodine!"  said  Tarrant.  "He's  made  a  clean  sweep 
of  me.  He  beat  me  out  with  the  girl;  he  jailed  me;  and 
he  busted  me  flat.  He  said  he  would  do  it,  and  he  has. 
But  he  did  it  wrong.  He  didn't  play  fair.  I  don't  blame 
the  boys.  Bodine  knew  they  would  come  to  town.  The 
dirty  hound!" 

He  went  down  the  street  with  his  head  up  and  smiling. 
The  contentment  of  desperation  was  upon  him.  He  had 
lost  all,  therefore  he  had  nothing  to  lose.  He  felt  he  had 
nothing  to  win,  either.  Only  he  craved  one  moment,  one 
moment  alone  -with  Bodine,  Bodine  within  reach  of  his 
bare  hands. 

The  door  of  the  office  was  open.  Tarrant  entered  with 
the  lightness  of  a  cat.  A  clerk  rose  to  question  him.  With 
a  swift  jerk  Tarrant  threw  him  outside  and  stepped  in. 
Bodine  turned  from  his  desk  with  a  feline  instinct  of 
danger.  Tarrant  laughed. 

"The  show-down,  Bodine!"  he  cried.  "No!  With  our 
bare  hands!" 

With  a  leap  he  hurled  himself  across  the  room  and 
caught  the  hand  that  had  slipped  into  an  open  drawer. 
The  shot  that  Bodine  fired  went  into  the  desk,  and  Tar- 
rant wrested  the  gun  from  him  and  hurled  it  through  the 
window. 

"Bare  hands,  Bodine !"  he  roared.    "That's  all  I've  got 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  293 

left  now ;  you've  taken  all  the  rest ;  and  that's  how  we'll 
play  the  show-down!" 

Bodine  had  recovered  promptly  from  the  moment  of 
panic  into  which  Tarrant's  startling  appearance  had 
thrown  him.  His  face  became  tigerish.  The  pose  of  the 
suave  promoter  was  cast  aside.  He  was  himself  now, 
frankly,  Bodine  the  gambler. 

"You  damned  roughneck!"  he  barked.  "You  damned 
pauper !" 

"I've  still  got  my  bare  hands,  Bodine!" 

"You  will  have  it,  eh?"  roared  Bodine. 

He  feinted  with  the  skill  of  the  experienced  fighter  he 
was  and  struck.  Tarrant  took  it  and  laughed.  Another 
blow  dropped  him  over  a  chair  and  he  kicked  the  broken 
pieces  away  and  laughed  again.  He  ducked  inside  a  blow 
and  caught  Bodine  in  his  arms.  For  seconds  they  strained 
chest  to  chest  and  eye  to  eye  and  the  panting  of  the  crowd 
at  the  door  was  audible  in  the  silence.  Slowly  Bodine 
gave  ground.  Snarling  and  spitting  like  a  cat  he  strove 
to  tear  himself  away.  Tarrant  put  all  the  strength  of  his 
body  into  a  heave  and  threw  his  opponent  the  length  of 
the  room.  Bodine  rebounded  like  a  rubber  ball.  His 
rage  was  frightful.  All  thoughts  of  scientific  fighting  had 
fled  from  his  mind,  and  he  fought  like  a  beast,  elemental, 
primitive  in  his  frantic  efforts  to  hurt  and  cripple. 

Tarrant  fought  back  with  a  recklessness  that  told  how 
little  he  asked  of  the  future.  His  hardness  of  body  and 
his  youth  alone  saved  him.  He  paid  no  more  attention 
to  Bodine's  brutal  kicks  than  he  did  to  his  blows.  He  let 
his  head  slip  into  a  chancery  for  the  privilege  of  driving 
a  blind  swing  into  Bodine's  face. 

He  was  too  strong  and  too  desperate.     Bodine  broke 


294  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

free  and  sought  to  keep  him  away.  Like  a  force  which 
nothing  could  hurt  or  stop,  Tarrant  pursued  him.  Blows 
stopped  him  in  his  tracks  with  the  suddenness  of  a  bullet 
and  he  rocked  on  his  heels,  and  came  on. 

"The  show-down,  Bodine,"  he  panted.  "With  bare 
hands!" 

Bodine  summoned  all  his  strength  and  skill  for  one 
ultimate  onslaught.  His  rush  carried  Tarrant  back  across 
the  room  and  against  the  wall.  Bodine  struck  till  he  was 
arm  weary.  He  stepped  back.  The  tottering  figure 
against  the  wall  lurched  forward. 

"The  show-down !"  it  mumbled. 

Bodine's  nerve  broke.  He  turned  to  flee  by  the  door. 
Old  Man  Swanson  threw  him  back.  Tarrant  vaguely 
distinguished  his  lawyer  and  a  stranger  behind  Swanson, 
but  he  did  not  care. 

He  came  slowly  across  the  room  and  caught  Bodine  by 
the  throat.  He  bent  him  back  inch  by  inch  over  a  table. 
His  fist  was  raised  to  strike,  and  then,  without  releasing 
his  hold,  he  paused  and  threw  up  his  head. 

The  crowd  outside  had  suddenly  assumed  the  same  atti- 
tude. There  was  a  whistling  sound  in  the  air,  as  if  of  a 
pent-up  hurricane  venting  itself  through  a  small  pipe,  a 
sound  weird  and  uncanny  to  the  stranger,  but  rife  with  a 
throbbing  tale  to  these  oilmen.  The  sound  grew  in  vol- 
ume; it  was  the  shriek  of  an  imprisoned  gale  fighting  to 
free  itself.  It  came  from  the  north.  It  rose  to  an  incred- 
ible pitch  and  then  it  died  away. 

A  girl  came  running  out  of  the  telephone  exchange.  It 
was  Marjorie. 

"They  did  it— they  did  it!"  she  cried.  "It's  No.  6! 
Buck  and  Elmer  put  a  shot  in  as  a  last  resort,  and  brought 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  295 

in  a  gusher.  I  had  Colson's  Ranch  on  the  'phone,  and 
they  say  they  can  see  it,  and  the  oil — the  oil  is  spouting 
a  hundred  feet  high!" 

Tarrant  spoke  faintly : 

"What  time  is  it,  Air* 

"Eleven  ten,"  came  the  reply.    "Tarrant,  it's  yours !" 

Tarrant  let  fall  his  upraised  fist  and  released  his  hold. 

"The  show-down,  Bodine!"  he  cried  in  triumph.  "You 
can  go." 

"He  cannot!"  snapped  the  stranger  beside  Tarrant's 
lawyer.  "I  want  him  for  violating  the  postal  law " 

"To  hell  with  the  law!"  cried  the  crowd.  "Didn't  you 
hear?  A  gusher — oil  a  hundred  feet  high!" 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

N  SPOUT  poured  itself  northward.  The  88  Lease 
had  become  an  irresistible  magnet.  An  outpouring 
of  motor  cars  which  soon  reached  halfway  to  the  lease 
was  on  the  road  before  Marjorie  had  told  the  story  which 
she  had  waited  tensely  all  morning  to  hear  over  the  'phone. 
The  air  was  alive  with  the  throb  of  cars  starting  away; 
the  road  was  hidden  beneath  a  cloud  of  dust.  Each  car 
carried  its  full  load,  and  after  the  cars  were  all  gone, 
motor  trucks  were  called  into  service.  A  few  riders  on 
ponies  followed  the  trucks  and  then  came  the  horse-drawn 
vehicles  and,  last  of  all,  a  straggling  crowd  on  foot,  all 
bent  upon  beholding  with  their  own  eyes  the  new  miracle 
which  had  blown  all  other  interests  out  of  the  life  of  Tin 
Spout  as  a  puff  of  wind  blows  out  a  candle. 

Tin  Spout  was  starting  anew.  There  was  a  new  force 
on  the  scene  and  the  air  was  electric  with  the  sudden 
change.  Soon  the  forerunners  of  the  crowd  were  within 
sight  of  the  well,  and  they  gasped  and  cheered.  Above 
the  casing  a  solid  column  of  oil  was  shooting  high  in  the 
air  and  breaking  into  a  plume  and  splattering  itself  upon 
the  landscape.  The  odour  of  fresh  oil  was  in  the  air.  The 
crowd  stood  by  and  looked  in  awe  at  the  fortune  that  was 
pouring  up  from  the  earth.  It  was  a  new  force  in  the 
world,  a  power  released  for  the  service  of  man.  Men 
and  women  quickened  to  new  life  as  they  gazed  at  it,  a 
rich  dark  column  of  new  clean  wealth,  a  veritable  geyser 
of  thick,  black  oil. 

296 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  297 

Tarrant  was  the  oilman  instantly.  He  sat  in  Bodine's 
office  and  gave  orders.  A  cap  and  a  gate  for  use  -when 
the  flow  had  subsided  sufficiently  to  permit  control  of  the 
flood  of  oil  went  out  on  one  of  the  first  trucks.  He  gave 
contracts  for  storage  tanks  and  engaged  men  by  the  score 
to  hasten  out  and  build  a  dike  about  the  well  to  hold  the 
oil  until  the  tanks  could  be  constructed.  Men  rushed  to 
seek  his  orders  and  to  execute  them.  He  was  the  owner 
of  a  gusher.  He  looked  about  the  office.  The  room  was 
wrecked,  but  more  than  that,  it  had  already  assumed  the 
air  of  a  place  whose  day  has  passed  and  which  has  been 
discarded  and  abandoned.  A  framed  certificate  of  Pan- 
National  stock  was  in  the  litter  upon  the  floor.  Someone's 
heel  had  crushed  through  it  ruthlessly. 

And  when  the  crowded  day  was  done,  and  his  triumph 
as  an  oil  man  assured  beyond  any  possible  doubt,  and  the 
softness  of  dusk  usurped  the  glare  of  day,  Tarrant  broke. 
The  hard  mask  of  purposeful  determination  fell  away 
from  his  countenance.  The  grim  fighting  man,  hurling 
himself  instantly  into  the  struggle  to  make  his  victory  se- 
cure, vanished.  In  the  moment  of  his  triumph  when  his 
name  was  upon  all  lips  as  the  man  of  the  hour,  as  the  Win- 
ner, he  faltered  and  gave  way.  No  one  knew  the  tension 
he  laboured  under  during  the  afternoon ;  no  one  suspected 
the  tumult  of  reborn  emotions,  of  glimmering  hope,  of 
anguish,  of  black  despair,  which  he  fought  down,  smoth- 
ered and  kept  concealed  as  he  met  the  demands  of  his 
good  fortune.  True  friends  would  have  slapped  him  upon 
the  back,  sycophants  would  have  fawned  upon  him;  but 
they  regarded  the  grimness  of  his  expression  and  let  him 
alone.  He  heard  whispered  comments — "Hard  as  steel" 
— and  he  hid  beneath  his  mask  of  hardness  the  bitterness 


298  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

that  the  words  evoked.  He  saw  the  job  through,  saw  it 
through  with  an  expert's  completeness  of  detail,  and  no 
one  suspected  the  turmoil,  the  fear,  the  weakness,  that 
agitated  his  heart. 

Where  he  went  now  he  was  the  centre  of  an  excited 
throng.  Inured  as  the  people  were  to  miraculously  sud- 
den rises  to  fortune  they  were,  nevertheless,  eager  for  the 
thrill  of  reflected  glory  to  be  achieved  about  the  person 
of  a  new  magnate.  They  swarmed  to  Tarrant.  And  in 
the  evening's  crowds  which  gathered  about  him  there  was 
no  man  fainter  of  heart  or  more  apprehensive  of  the  fu- 
ture than  the  man  whom  all  envied.  The  depression  which 
had  so  darkened  his  few  hours  in  jail  was  still  with  Tar- 
rant, and  the  conviction  was  upon  him  that  he  had  proved 
himself  unworthy  to  hope  for  the  finer  things  which  he 
had  glimpsed  in  the  presence  of  Marjorie.  After  all  that 
was  what  he  had  striven  for.  He  realised  this  fully,  now 
that  the  material  rewards  of  his  struggle  were  assured. 
He  had,  as  an  oil-man,  been  determined  to  justify  his  faith 
in  himself  and  in  the  existence  of  the  great  pool  of  oil 
in  the  Tin  Spout  field.  He  had  been  out  to  reap  the 
riches  which  inevitably  would  be  the  due  of  the  man  who 
should  discover  the  pool.  This  day  he  had  fulfilled  both 
these  objects.  He  had  been  true  to  his  faith,  and  he  had 
gained  what  men  called  success.  And  now  he  knew  that 
beneath  these  aims  had  been  a  stronger  force,  and  it  was 
this  force  which  had  driven  him  on.  The  instinct  to  ad- 
vance, not  materially  alone,  but  in  Life,  the  yearning  for 
a  finer  existence,  for  ideals  above  which  he  had  known — 
this  was  the  urge  that  had  held  him  steadfastly  to  the 
course  of  ambition.  He  had  come  far,  from  cowboy  to 
oil  king,  and  he  was  still  young.  But  the  sense  of  doom 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  299 

was  upon  his  spirit.  He  felt  he  could  go  no  further  in 
the  things  that  mattered  to  him,  could  not  achieve  any- 
thing better.  His  spirit  groped  imploringly  for  a  new 
faith,  but  the  affray  with  Grogan  rose  up  in  his  mind  and 
damned  him.  In  the  bitterness  of  the  moment  he  cursed 
the  fate  that  had  given  him  the  vision  to  see  and  to  crave 
something  finer. 

He  took  advantage  of  the  first  shades  of  night  to  lose 
himself  from  the  eager  crowds  and  to  wander  alone  in  the 
empty  darkness  about  the  town.  He  found  himself  upon 
the  railway  right  of  way  south  of  town,  and  he  looked 
back  at  Tin  Spout's  lights,  wishful  to  put  them  far  behind 
him.  The  excitement  which  thralled  the  place  seemed  to 
charge  the  atmosphere  about  it.  Men  were  talking  wildly 
back  there ;  and  his  name,  enviously  uttered,  was  upon  all 
lips. 

He  turned  and  shambled  back  over  the  ties  and  came 
to  the  old  shipping-pens  and  the  livery  stable  where  he 
had  left  Nine  Spot.  He  roused  himself  from  his  mood  as 
he  heard  the  pony's  hoofs  beating  a  fretful  tattoo  in  his 
stall.  The  stableman  was  not  to  be  seen.  Tarrant  fed 
and  watered  the  neglected  animal  but  the  grateful  whinny- 
ing of  Nine  Spot  failed  to  touch  him.  He  stood  stock- 
still  and  entirely  unresponsive  while  the  pony  nuzzled  his 
arm.  A  strange  sort  of  courage  had  arisen  within  him 
and  he  was  icy  cold. 

"I've  got  to  see  her,"  he  said  aloud.     "Just  see  her." 

When  he  moved  it  seemed  through  no  volition  of  his 
own;  it  was  as  if  an  extraneous  force  moved  the  reluctant 
body  along  the  dark  side  street  toward  the  home  of  the 
"Deaf"  Hemps  where  Marjorie  was  stopping.  So  it  hap- 
pened that  he  all  but  ran  into  her  before  he  was  conscious 


30O  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

that  anyone  was  approaching,  and  when  he  saw  her  he 
felt  it  must  be  a  fantasy,  a  figment  of  his  disordered  mind 
that  stood  before  him.  She,  too,  stopped  abruptly,  and 
they  stood  silently  looking  at  one  another  from  a  dis- 
tance. Tarrant  finally  moved  toward  her,  slowly,  incred- 
ulously. Marjorie  did  not  move,  but  only  looked  at  him ; 
and  suddenly  the  darkness  seemed  shattered  for  Tarrant, 
and  he  saw  her  in  a  flash  of  light.  He  drew  the  back  of 
his  hand  tremblingly  across  his  eyes  as  if  to  test  his 
vision. 

"I — I  have  just  been  down  to  fix  up  Nine  Spot,"  he 
said  weakly. 

"I  was  going  there  to  see  to  him,"  said  she  simply,  but 
she  made  no  move  to  turn  back. 

Tarrant  fought  with  himself  to  achieve  a  moment  of 
his  wonted  self-control;  he  tried  to  speak  calmly,  but  calm 
words  would  not  come  at  all ;  only  there  came  an  inarticu- 
late cry: 

"Marjorie!" 

'And  at  the  tale  of  pain  and  anguish  and  yearning  which 
the  cry  told  the  girl  threw  out  her  hands  and  moaned: 
"Spence!"  And  he  reached  for  her  hands  fumblingly, 
and  when  he  held  them  she  leaned  back,  her  upturned  eyes 
wet  with  tears,  and  then  with  a  queer,  happy  sob,  she  cast 
herself  forward  upon  the  shelter  of  his  bosom. 

Tarrant  held  her  off,  his  hands  upon  her  shoulders. 

"You — you  mean  it?"  he  protested.  "You — you  are 
sure  you  know  what  you're  doing?" 

She  smiled  as  she  looked  up  at  him.  The  smile  wiped 
away  all  doubts,  all  need  for  words.  His  amazement  was 
still  great  but  it  did  not  affect  the  manner  in  which  his 


Tar  rant  of  Tin  Spout  301 

long  arms  gathered  her  to  him  and  lifted  her  up  until  their 
yearning  lips  met. 

"One  thing  I'd  like  to  get  straight,  Honey,"  said  Tar- 
rant  a  few  evenings  later  as  she  sat  upon  his  knee  in  the 
darkened  parlor  of  the  Hemps,  "is  when  you  first  got  it 
into  your  head  that  maybe  some  day  I'd  do  to  take  along? 
Was  it  after  I  came  up  to  see  you  that  day  in  Chicago?" 

"That  was  nice,  wasn't  it,  dear,  that  day  by  the  lake?" 
she  responded. 

Tarrant  chuckled  as  he  drew  her  closer  and  kissed  her. 

"You're  not  telling,  is  that  it,  Honey?"  he  whispered. 

"Why  do  you  want  to  know  ?"  she  demanded. 

"It's  this  way,  Honey,"  he  continued,  "I  reasoned  that 
I  had  made  such  a  bad.  impression  on  you  that  there  was 
no  hope  for  me;  and  the  only  time  I  can  think  of  when 
it  might  have  been  different  was  up  North  that  time.  But 
that  wasn't  enough  to  make  you  want  to  marry  me,  was 
it?" 

"It  didn't  hurt  your  case  any,"  she  said,  stroking  his 
brown  cheek.  "It  made  me  think  more  highly  of  you, 
I  think.  But— it  was  before  that." 

"When  was  it?"  he  urged.  "When  did  you  first 
think ?" 

"I  didn't  think,  Spence,"  she  interrupted. 


"I'll  never  tell  you,"  she  protested,  drawing  his  face 
down  against  her's.    "Never,  never,  never !" 

"All  right,  Honey,"  he  laughed    "This  suits  me." 
"But  if  you  must  know,"  she  went  on  rapidly,  cuddling 
closer  within  his  arms,  "It— it  was  that  first  time  you — 
you  dear  brute  f — when  you — "  she  kissed  him  swiftly  — 
"on  the  horse !    Don't  laugh,  dear ;  just  kiss  me." 


302  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

And  now  a  true  oil  boom  came  to  Tin  Spout.  The 
paper  boom  had  collapsed  as  a  balloon  when  the  air  is  let 
out  of  it.  The  colossal  stock-selling  campaign  of  the  Pan- 
National  Syndicate  was  ruined  almost  overnight.  The 
public  had  been  mulcted  for  millions,  but  this  was  no  nov- 
elty, and  it  soon  was  forgotten.  Bodine's  share  of  the 
loot  enabled  him  and  the  broken  Grogan  to  flee  into  Mex- 
ico. It  was  not  long  before  word  drifted  back  that  the 
smugglers  and  gamblers  in  Tia  Juana  acknowledged  a 
new  leader,  who  was  very  much  at  home  in  his  surround- 
ings and  who  established  as  lookout  in  one  of  his  gaming 
houses  a  scar- faced  man  who  made  absolutely  no  pretense 
of  being  a  tough  one. 

Meanwhile  the  oil  fever  raged  at  Tin  Spout  with  the 
customary  virulence  of  the  disease.  The  new  fame  of 
Tin  Spout  drew  its  quota  of  wealth-hungry  citizens  from 
all  parts  of  the  country,  and  oilmen  came  thither  from 
England  and  Holland.  Wall  Street  was  attracted,  the 
skyrocket  speculative  financiers  and  the  solid  oil  com- 
panies as  well.  There  was  high-gravity  crude  oil  beneath 
this  boom,  and  a  refinery  was  erected,  and  trains  of  loaded 
tank  cars  rumbled  over  the  branch  line  that  cut  the  old 
88  Ranch  in  two. 

Perhaps  the  spectacle  which  the  locality  now  presented 
was  the  most  typically  American  that  our  generation  af- 
fords. For  here  was  a  heterogeneous  horde,  recklessly 
optimistic  and  eagerly  concentrated  upon  the  feat  of  co- 
lossal material  accomplishments,  quite  regardless  of  the 
consequences  to  self,  to  neighbour  or  to  future  generations. 
It  was  childishly  swayed  by  propaganda,  running  like  a 
flock  of  sheep  at  the  beck  of  the  unquenchable  spirit  that 
urged  it  onward.  If  it  scrambled  madly  for  a  share  of 


Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout  303 

earth's  bountiful  resources,  it  also  spent  itself  unquestion- 
ingly  in  the  fight,  and  asked  no  odds  from  man  or  fate. 

It  wasted  deplorably  of  wealth  and  strength  and  life; 
but  out  of  the  welter  insistently  there  rose  the  spiritual 
guarantors  of  permanence  and  progress.  Men  died  be- 
cause of  careless  methods  of  work  and  living,  and  were 
hastily  buried  and  their  graves  were  moved  to  make  way 
for  the  drilling  rigs;  but  those  guilty  of  the  apparent 
desecration  would  not  have  had  it  otherwise  had  it  been 
their  lot  to  be  among  the  unfortunate.  The  job  of  the 
men  operating  in  the  field,  as  they  saw  it,  was  to  produce 
oil.  Critics,  with  a  due  regard  for  ethics  and  traditions, 
might  well  be  appalled  at  the  methods  employed  by  these 
men ;  but  upon  one  fact  there  could  be  cast  no  doubt — they 
did  the  job. 

One  night  soon  after  the  new  boom  had  begun  in  earn- 
est, a  northbound  train  with  an  observation  car  on  the 
end  was  preparing  to  depart  from  the  trim  brick  station 
which  was  being  rushed  toward  completion  at  Tin  Spout. 
A  young  man  and  a  girl  came  unobtrusively  along  the 
train,  and  at  the  sight  of  the  couple  the  porter  on  the  rear 
car  hastily  opened  the  polished  brass  gate  of  the  observa- 
tion platform. 

A  tall  old  man  and  a  stocky  young  man,  each  bearing 
a  suitcase  and  handbag,  followed  behind  the  pair.  They 
surrendered  the  baggage  reluctantly  to  the  porter.  Their 
occupation  gone,  they  stood  about  clumsily. 

"Looks  a  little  as  if  she  might  cool  off  a  bit  to-night, 
mebbe,"  said  Elmer  portentously. 

"It  is  a  little  cooler,  for  a  fact,"  responded  Buck. 

"Boys,"  said  Tarrant.    "I  have  never  tried  to  tell  you 


304  Tarrant  of  Tin  Spout 

how  I  feel  toward  you,  and  I  am  not  going  to  try  now; 
but " 

"You  better  get  aboard,"  interrupted  Buck,  making  a 
great  ado  over  looking  at  his  watch ;  "she'll  be  pulling  out 
in  a  second." 

"Sure  will/'  agreed  Elmer,  likewise  consulting  his  time- 
piece. "So  long,  Spence;  so  long,  Mrs.  Tarrant." 

"Oh!"  cried  Marjorie.  "Do  you  think  you  are  going 
like  that?" 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  then  she  stepped  forward 
swiftly  and  threw  her  arms  about  them  and  kissed  them, 
one  after  the  other. 

Buck  and  Elmer  stood  and  looked  at  the  pair  on  the 
rear  platform  as  the  train  pulled  out.  They  stood  there 
long  after  Tarrant  and  Marjorie  had  ceased  to  be  visible, 
after  the  lights  of  the  train  had  grown  dim  and  disap- 
peared and  even  after  its  rumble  had  ceased  to  mark  its 
course  as  it  rolled  nearer  the  Red  River  on  its  way  north- 
ward When  it  was  gone  beyond  all  sight  and  hearing 
Elmer  cleared  his  throat  and  looked  up  at  the  sky. 

"Looks  sort  of  as  if  it  might  cool  off  a  little,  mebbe," 
he  asserted. 

"Eh,  yah,"  agreed  Buck,  "it  sort  of  does." 


A     000127663     3 


